Lymph Journal # 49

3/31/2012

Well, it seems like I’ve successfully survived the brief brush with whatever spiked that fever and I’ve already refilled the prescription should we face this again – an altogether likely thing.  I feel really good – way better than when first diagnosed.  I can walk up hills without flagging and some muscle tone is coming back while my weight holds steady (within the fluid retention peaks and valleys of a round of chemo).  All these are good signs and I’ve got three days of this to enjoy before the next round.  Tuesday I go to the local clinic for another Rituxin infusion and the next day I’m back at the Uniklinik in Freiburg for the second and last round of chemo that precedes the harvesting of stem cells.  Hopefully, I’ll be back home for Easter.

The days have been quite spectacular weather wise here.  The early blooming bulbs are producing ground level colors and the earliest blooming fruit trees are beginning to daub the hillsides with hint of what is to come.  Shortly these hills will be covered with cherry and apple trees in full bloom.

For we Kandern locals there is no surer sign that spring is here than the amphibian driven speed reductions put into place to save the wandering amorous frogs.  It makes you grin every year.  Cars can travel on sections of the Autobahn at 100mph or more (and they do) but it’s strictly 30mph at night when the frogs are looking for a date.

I brake for frogs.

The lambs are lambed, the storks are redecorating and the fields are progressively harrowed into finer and finer grains of soil ready for planting.  The landscapes around here often demonstrate that the natural beauty of this region is often accented well by human effort rather than undermined by over-development. 

A proud parent

Spring lambs

Yes, they're real.

BFA has entered Spring break and the M-trips are off to all sorts of places.  This time last year Diane, Carl, eighteen others and myself were winging our way to China.  Big changes in one year!  (When I was undergoing diagnosis I fervently wished I had some crazy giant tapeworm of Asian origin to explain my symptoms – that sure would have been easier!  Oh well.).  Let’s pray that the trips this year go well, that lives are deeply impacted, that God is glorified and that all remain healthy.

Lymph Journal # 48

3/26/2012

I’m at the midway phase between chemo treatments (next one is on or about April 5) and the circumstances are, I guess you could say, mixed. 

On the plus side I had my first big outing of the warm weather.  A home (BFA v. Heidelberg) soccer game was held in the local city’s sport field and we decided to attend.  I went well prepared with long sleeves and pants, much sunscreen, my new bush hat, an umbrella (in case of sun, not rain) and some folding chairs.  Diane skipped the hat and umbrella.  It was a beautiful day.  The highlight was seeing so many folks – fellow staff and students – but it was also a bit strange because, well, it’s hard for all of us who strive to get it right to be fully confident that we’re doing/saying the right things in a situation such as this.  Congratulations one and all.  Every greeting, every one-armed hug (I pass on handshakes), every assurance that we’re in your prayers was just right. 

Maybe the more awkward part of this is on me.  I’ve been hunkered down for the past three months – sort of the ghost that haunts the fringes of the Kandern community only because I’m supposed to avoid the crowds that inevitably carry a host of microbes I’m not well equipped right now to meet.  I do not, in the least, feel like the community sees me that way – you have all been great – it’s just a side effect of a less than perfect winter with cancer.  My awkwardness, in large part, stems from a desire to not be, how should I put this, a cancer diva.  So forgive me any stumbles as I venture into the safety of seeing folks in larger numbers in the great outdoors.  We’ll figure it out.

Sights from the game:

Diane chatting with a former English Camper who now serves on staff.

Here you see the contrast between two South County Rhode Islanders who grew up in a beach community, served in the same school systems, attended the same church except one is undergoing chemo and has to watch out for the sun (he couldn’t wear his “manpris”).

On the other side of “mixed”, one of those microbes I’m not well equipped to deal with got me.  Sunday night I came down with a mild fever.  This, for most, is not a big deal but when your immunity is down it is of concern.  Fortunately, at the start of all this, the proper prescription had been given and filled so I was able to follow the doctor’s orders regarding the situation (which, inevitably cropped up on a weekend when everything is closed).  So far it seems under control.  I’ll see the doc later today for blood tests already scheduled.

Lymph Journal # 47 - A Sovereign God - hmm

3/23/1012

The last time ( a few weeks ago) I stretched in the chemo-lounger for five hours taking in an infusion of Rituximab in the peaceful haze that is part of that process, I got to musing again on the sovereignty of God.  I didn’t have the energy to type these thoughts out on the keyboard so I jotted some things down in a notebook.  There are always a few problems in doing that – they’re why I rough draft on the computer most times.  First problem – when will I actually get back to it and transfer thoughts to electronics?  (This also begs the question of will I really remember what I was thinking at the time?) Second problem – what the heck did I actually write – my penmanship is abysmal – ask anyone who tries to read my shopping lists or a student who receives comments on a returned paper (I have to reserve time to interpret for them what I’ve written – sometimes I actually can read my own writing).

As far as I can reconstruct here’s where I began –

Do I believe in the sovereignty (def: supreme power and authority) of God? 

There are many moments in life where one who claims God’s sovereignty has to make sure they have an answer to that question.  Cancer is one of those moments.  There are many more in any person’s life. 

So, do I believe in the sovereignty of God?  Isaiah 40 repeats a marvelous phrase regarding God’s role in the universe: “Do you not know?  Have you not heard?”

Isaiah 40: 21 Do you not know? Have you not heard? 
Has it not been told you from the beginning? 
   Have you not understood since the earth was founded? 
22 He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth, and its people are like grasshoppers. 
He stretches out the heavens like a canopy, and spreads them out like a tent to live …. 27 Why do you complain, Jacob? 
Why do you say, Israel, 
“My way is hidden from the LORD; my cause is disregarded by my God”? 
28 Do you not know? Have you not heard? 
The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. 
He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. 
29 He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. 
30 Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; 
31 but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. 
They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

The tone of the phrasing is interesting.  The writer puts it out there – it’s just plain incredulous to not believe in the sovereignty of God.  “How did you miss this one folks?”

So let me answer the question straight up.  I believe in God’s sovereignty.

I just don’t fully (maybe not even close) understand it.

There are all sorts of biblical imagery to help me out.  God as Creator, God as sustainer, God as King, God as the Potter (while I’m but the clay) – these all contribute to my understanding but each image comes with its reservation when a person is in extremis.

We’ve got to be careful not to cherry pick what we value about God and His sovereign workings.

Sovereignty by definition is sovereignty over all.  This is easier to accept when things seem “good” but what about the bad and the ugly in our lives and experience?  It’s wrapped up in the classic question of theodicy (def: the vindication of divine goodness and providence in view of the existence of evil.) – a philosophical and theological nut with so many layers to penetrate.  (If you want to wade in these waters may I recommend John G. Stackhouse, Jr. (1998). Can God Be Trusted: Faith and the Challenge of Evil).

But, for the purposes of this entry, let me pose a nub of what I don’t understand.  When the bad and the ugly occur – what’s with God.  Here are the options on the spectrum:  God is the cause.  God wills it. God allows it. God redeems or rescues it. God has purpose in it that we do not/cannot “get” at this juncture.  God is somehow “surprised” by it (He didn’t know it was coming as the “open theist” might argue).  All of these and more are argued from different theological traditions and biblical interpretations.

But, “Do you not know?  Have you not heard?”  I don’t know which option applies to my present situation although I’d rule out God being taken by surprise.  I suspect there are a few levels going on and that God the Potter can also be likened to God the “Grand Weaver” (credit to Ravi Zacharias).

God seems to allow us latitude somehow within His will.  Without the freedom and ability to choose where would we have a sense of morality or ethics?  All would be without credit or blame. The good, the bad, and the ugly would all operate as instructed.  All would be broken to order.  There would really be nothing free, nothing from which God could/would redeem us, nothing much to live for either.  God somehow has determined that to let us go our way opens the path to winning us back to Himself.  That process looks messy from our perspectives.

Possibly the biggest obstacle to accepting the sovereignty of God is our own myopia.  When we somehow presume that God’s good intentions for the universe must mean “good” in our personal lives we’re in a collision course with confidence.  There exists the distinct possibility that it’s not all about me.  If He is the potter and I am the clay – well – is what He is forming about the form or about the whole potted collection?  Sometimes the clay looks good, sometimes bad or even ugly.

In Gethsemane and later on the cross was Christ experiencing the good, the bad, or the ugly?  Our present understanding now is that He was doing the good but the experience was bad and ugly.  The result, of course, is stunning!

We forget or never realize that we’re temporarily stuck in the conflict phase of the great story of Scripture and that the story’s hero is a God that is prodigal – a God that allows freedom and yearns for reconciliation and a God who has granted us that means of reconciliation in Christ.  He’s let us go, He beckons us back and He makes it possible that we’ll come.

In the long road of eternity the good, the bad, and the ugly will all be processed.  The long arm of justice will prevail because it has been satisfied.  All wounds will be healed.  All tears will be dried.  The villains and the victims (we’re both, are we not) who were quick to spot the bad and ugly will appreciate the infinitely greater injustice done to Christ and begin to joyfully laugh at the marriage feast of the Lamb.

In the great reach of eternity I will, when someone recalls my present situation, say, “Cancer, oh yeah, I remember that now.” 

Today I want to leave it behind and get on with life and love and ministry. 

Then I might say, “Thanks for bringing it to mind – I’d sort of forgotten – it’s always good to remember one of life’s grace episodes.  The Potter did amazing things with His clay.”

So I take hope in God’s sovereignty even though I don’t always get the hang of the mechanics of it.  The alternative to a sovereign God is one that is not – not God or not sovereign and I find that pretty close to unthinkable.  The evidence of God’s grace in my life and the lives of others I makes finding the alternative to a sovereign God impossible.

So that, to the best of my ability to recall and decipher my handwritten scratchings, is where I was in the process a few weeks ago.  I remember a favorite tune that played during that chemo-lounger session.  Fred Hammond’s All Things Are Working for Me is a beaut.  Lyrically it’s good but you’ve got to try and get it audibly because Fred really speaks through song.  If in the U.S. you can try www.youtube.com/watch?v=SyHIzQvKhcE

Or there’s the iTunes store – this one’s a keeper.

Falling apart and tearing at the seams

Tribulation lends a hand and squeezes all your hopes and dreams

You say you retreat, you say you just can't win

Before you let your circumstance tell you how the story ends

(God's word) His word says you can stand,

He'll cover you with His grace

Everything you need is in your hand,

So lift up your head and say

Chorus:

All things are working for me, even things I can't see

Your ways are so beyond me,

but You said that you would let it be for my good,

so I'll rest and just believe

Verse 2:

I know you say you've got it bad right now,

Let me say I know that feeling well,

To make good plans for life and then watch them take a

downward spin

Let me encourage you while I encourage me

See the raging rain and wind but He'll speak peace and it will come to an end

(The truth is)The truth is He cannot lie,

I'm in His hands and I'm on his mind,

promised me He'd always be there,

so by faith He will answer my prayer

Chorus

Bridge:

Many days and nights I cried because I felt let down

But I won't always receive good but a praise in my heart will remain

So with tears in your eyes know sometimes it might get rough

but say Lord I love you more and that is enough to know

All things are working for me, even things I can't see

Your ways are so beyond me,

but You said that you would let it be for my good,

so I'll rest and just believe

It’s time to take that rest.

Lymph Journal # 46

3/21/2012

Well it’s time to just plain update on the course of treatment – I left the reader hanging back at the Uniklinik.  I was sprung on Sunday morning.  I’ve tolerated this round (and by tolerated I mean I haven’t been really yucky sick – I’ve been “successful” in 3 for 5 rounds of chemo so far!) well.  Nausea was managed at hospital and home, Monday I was a bit under the chemo fog but I did manage to do a load of laundry in the morning and construct a meatloaf in the afternoon – there have been worse days.  Tuesday the brain, what little is left, got into gear and I worked on taxes for the morning and early afternoon – that’s U.S. taxes, Germany’s will be later.  Following this I set off for blood tests and errands that took me through 2-7PM.  At this point I was pretty much a spent force.  Today it’s back to taxes and errands and laundry.  The weather is gorgeous but I need to keep myself pretty shaded, chemo tends to invite sunburn and trading lymphoma for melanoma doesn’t sound like too good an idea.  I did get the bedding washed and on the line to take advantage of the weather while there was no springtime tang of freshly manured fields in the air.  It’s not a smell that bothers me, but I don’t want to sleep with it.

I’m scheduled for round 2 of 2 chemos that precede my stem cell harvesting tentatively to start on Good Friday – so it’s Easter weekend in the hospital.  Should be quiet.  After the treatment comes the harvest - there is a period of about ten days when all this goes on.  Following this will be the long stay of approximately three weeks.  High dose chemo will be administered hopefully wiping out any remaining vestiges of lymphomac nastiness.  I’ll have virtually no immunity at that time.  Once stem cells are reintroduced the hope is the blood will rebuild – red, white and platelet wise and I could be “cured” (I guess that’s measured in levels of remission and a bit of looking over your shoulders for a few years to see if there’s a return).  It looks likely that late May will wind this up, Lord willing.

It would be great to have all this plotted precisely on a calendar.  At that point I could “plan” stuff.  One of the great lessons of all this experience is but a reinforcement of a very old truth about the plans of mankind versus the plans and intentions of God.  One of these plan sets is vapor, the other is sure.  Figure it out.

So that’s just a quick update on where we’re at.  Continue to pray for effectiveness of treatment.  Continue to pray for Diane as she is so involved with her work in TeachBeyond’s Language Services and related responsibilities at the same time she is a most precious partner in all the other “stuff”.

Lymph Journal # 45 Happy Birthday Dad

3/17/2012

We’re into the weekend here (a “holiday” weekend for all you Irishmen & women) and things are a bit more quiet in the courtyard - the view of which I lost today after being moved to a new room right next door but no balcony and the window bed was already occupied – oh well.  Falling leaves or duck behavior I can comment little on (I can hear the sighs of relief from regular readers).  On weekends the menu only has one non-vegetarian choice rather than the normal two (actually they print 2 identical choices so as not to throw off the symmetry of the seven day menu).  The weekend shift of nurses means new faces to get used to – so far, this morning included, they’ve all been good.  My roomie went home after his marrow donation – a good guy.  My new roomie is a young (late 20s?) patient under treatment rather than a well person doing a good deed.

So far, so good as it comes to tolerating this blast of chemo.  The battery of anti-nausea medication has been working well.  Where was this stuff when I was a fisherman?  The first nine months of that life had me far to well acquainted with nausea (note “sea” is the second syllable).  I was reading a novel with a sailing setting the other day and the description of the newby’s struggle with mal de mer went something like this: “For the first days she thought she was about to die.  In the days following she feared she would not”.  Yup, nailed that!  I don’t like nausea and seasickness is just plain the worst.

So, let’s tie a few threads here together.  It’s St. Patrick’s Day a day which has always made it easy to remember the more important, to me, anniversary and that is my dad’s birthday.  My dad, through sheer benevolent nepotism, was also my boss, better I should say my captain, for the eight years I spent as a fisherman.  A “site” (the position of a regular, share of the net catch worth earning crewman) on his boat was considered a very fortunate job.  So today it will be a shout out to the memory of some things about my dad.

My dad was a good man.  Good in the human sense. I know, biblically, doctrinally speaking that there’s no such thing but that really means no one’s good enough to meet God’s standard of good enough and that’s the whole reason why an infinitely good God sacrificed Himself – to allow us to be good by His sacrifice and to be able to enjoy Him now and forever.

But Dad was a good guy.  He was a good guy during my younger years.  After he came to faith in Christ while I was in high school he became a truly good guy. 

By the way, Dad’s objection to faith was largely of intellectual type. What helped push him that step beyond where a believing wife, six believing kids, and a Baptist pastor as one of his best friends had urged him was reading about the life of Paul.  Paul was an intellectual, a powerful one, who had met the Christ he was persecuting.  He met a risen Christ and it’s tough to argue against a risen guy who claimed to be God.  Somehow the two things, resurrection and divinity, are mutually reinforcing.  If this makes you go, “Really now.”, check out a reputable apologist’s (Strobel, McDowell, Lewis, etc.) summary of the proofs of resurrection.  Whenever I have my doubts I have to go back and say that a historically resurrected Savior demands my faith if I want to be honest to he truth.

What are some of the things that were good about Dad?  I’ll list and describe just a few of the many things I admire.

He loved his family and did is best for them.  I know this can be said of many but it had its particular challenges for Dad.  Dad honored his own parents and this, from my experiences with them, was not easy.  They were highly opinionated, especially about what other people should specifically do.  Their expectations for others had little to do with the individuals and everything to do with their vision for perfection, not often based on values shared by their son, his wife or their grandchildren. Dad, their only son, chose one fine woman for a wife and together they raised six kids.  None of these kids really towed the specified line with the grandparents but, to the approval of others, none of them have spent a day in jail and all of them follow the Lord.  These paths were often distasteful to Dad’s parents.  So for Dad to honor his parents as he protected his own family was always a challenge and he tried his best and showed more grace than I can imagine myself demonstrating. 

I admire him in this and also see that he did his best to break this chain of what could be a family curse.  I always felt Dad was behind me in my decisions.  Considering what he came out of, that’s huge.

There are so many other tokens of his devotion to family.  He was, and remained his whole life, the love of Mom’s life and vice versa.   Family vacations for a family of eight with the camper – always an adventure (I particularly remember riding air mattresses down rapids in the Penobscot River – skating close to the edge of safety, but what could go wrong with Dad there).  He had five sons and was fond of recalling that, at the announcement that child # 6 was another boy, he said sarcastically something like “Great, more Pack Meetings!” – anyone who was taken a son through Cub Scouts catches his drift.  He went (when he wasn’t fishing, mom didn’t only just deliver 5 sons but she took up the slack there).  His support of Scouting led to the first Allagash River canoe trip (I was too young for that one but was thrilled by the slides) that, in turn, led to a tradition of canoe trip for the Kraines boys (my sister missed out but got a fishing trawler named after her).  Truly, a wonderful experience.   

Dad shooting the falls with son Mark

Dad watching as two sons capsize and swamp - twice, third time's the charm

Six kids college educated at Mom and Dad’s expense.  The long held July Fourth family clambake that so often stretched the definition and total number of family and included, for the nuclear family members, the clash of the plaids was so much a Dad thing (which in no way implies others didn’t work, we all had our roles not the least to mention Mom, but Dad seemed the heart of it).  The grandkids, all twenty, experienced his goodness.  The list goes on in the memories of family.

Dad made a great Deacon.  His natural bent toward helpfulness and his belief that there was a solution to every problem joined his Christian compassion and benefitted many inside and outside the church body.  Much of his work was unknown to many then and probably still is now.  It was a great fit for his years after fishing.

Dad's first boat of his own

Cap'n Bob hauling the "bag" on board the Karen Louise

Dad cleaning Yellowfin Tuna on a memorable but not very profitable trip

As a boat owner and captain (Captain Bob) he was a good man.  In this business that was so marked by transience, most guys that worked for him did so for long periods of time.  In a business marked by high rates of alcoholism, his boats were dry.  The crew wasn’t necessarily dry but they always got one extra chance after showing up drunk the first time, after that they had to look elsewhere for work.  Dad didn’t preach or get all heavy-handed about it, he just exhibited a good life unencumbered by excessive drink and its attendant problems.  The upshot of this was that many a crewman left behind alcohol abuse after a stint on the boat.  His concern and sense of responsibility for “making a living” for the crew, and his personal friendship and advice for them made a huge difference in many a guy’s life.  Two comments were made at Dad’s funeral, one publicly and one privately.  One of his long-time crew stood up to speak at the funeral and said as his opening statement, “Bob Kraines saved my life.”  Wow!  The other private comment was made to me by a crew member that had worked for Dad before and during part of my tenure on the boat.  He said, “Whenever I have a tough question about what I should decide I find myself asking, ‘What would Bob Kraines do?’”  Wow!

Dad fished commercially most of his professional life after a BA in Business on the GI Bill.  He never was famous; he never joined glamorous organizations (the now defunct Point Judith Fisherman’s Cooperative didn’t go in for glamor); he didn’t blow his own horn.  He just lived the life of am imperfect but deeply good man and in that quiet way he touched so many people.  I worked during college part time in a local funeral home.  I’ve been to more funerals that most of you reading this.  I have never seen a church so packed or a funeral procession so long as the one composed of those who came to honor Dad directly or recognize the impact he had on the particular family member they knew.

As I face a life threatening illness at age 54, I can’t help but remember Dad’s first heart attack at age 55.  For me it meant my dad was mortal.  It hit hard personally.  Dad went on to have 20+ more years of life for which we all rejoice.  But I remember how hard it was, how weird it felt to recognize my dad’s mortality.  I was able to share that feeling with Carl when I was diagnosed with this aggressive disease.  I hope it gives him, Sam, Amanda and Hannah permission to “process” well. 

But more I’d like to take a page from Dad’s book and exhibit to my kids that I believe their decisions and directions in life are their own but my wish for them is that wherever they go and do that they go and do so walking in relationship with the infinitely good God that my dad, their grandfather found to be more that sufficient to meet life and death.  So kids walk with God and try to stay out of jail for anything stupid – the rest is gravy and even the less than perfect choices can and will be redeemed by the God of redemption as you walk with Him.

I’ll close with this quote from an email I received from a good friend and fellow missionary in Europe who knew my family and often stayed with Mom and Dad while home in Rhode Island (David Lohnes – many will recognize the name).  It was sent when he heard of Dad’s passing.

“What a great man was your father.

I just thought he was wonderful, such a fine mixture of Godliness and humanity, just like it should be.

No more enemies, then…for your dad!

This was the last one.”

And those who knew him and share in the hope of Christ join and say, “Amen!”

Lymph Journal # 44

3/16/2012

Another lovely day looking out the window of my hospital room. We’re off to a relaxed start here.  A morning vitals check was done by the Krankenschwester  (or nurse but if you take the root words “kranken” and “Schwester”  separately it’s “sick sister” – lovin’ the German!).  This was followed by breakfast that arrived at 8AM in German fashion – two rolls, butter, peach jam, Frühstückwurst (breakfast bologna – broken down into roots = “early” “piece” “sausage”) slices, and coffee of an excellent quality one would not expect institutionally. The cleaners came by and complemented me on the fact that the floor looked clean – they washed it anyway.  Rounds with six docs at various stages of education and experience happened at about 10:40 and hints were made that the infusions would begin soon.  It all so relaxed, I feel like I should go outside and take a leisurely stroll or hunt up a game of checkers with some codger.  They did grab my IV pole so I guess it’s getting loaded up.

Another sign of Spring this morning – the large trees that the crows find so hospitable seem to be shedding their dried brown leaves that they’ve held onto all winter.  And another sign – an errant bee has entered the room in the mistaken conviction that the pollen being sought is on this side of the glass.

Infusion finally began at 12:30, coinciding exactly with lunch.  The earlier appetizer was an anti-nausea pill.  Fish with a side of Etopophos® and a saline solution sauce followed.  Dessert was a fifteen-minute addition of Epiricin/Farmorubicon® applied by manual syringe.  Mid-afternoon snack is a granola bar, a second anti-nausea pill and a bag of Cisplatin®.  This is accompanied by a bag of fluids to hel the kidneys function well – judging by the litter of empty Mineralwasser bottles lying around me and the path I’ve worn to the WC, I’d say the kidneys are working just fine, thank you.  One more waiting for afternoon cocktails (Endoxan® with various mixes to guard the bladder and other essential organs).

The mineral water of choice here, bottled with the Universitäts Klinikum Freiburg label, is from the Bad (Bath) Dürrheimer bottling plant.  Bad Dürrheim is a community in the Black Forest a few kilometers directly south of the city Villigen-Schwenningen and about ten kilometers north of Donaueschingen, the home of the spring considered to be the ultimate source of the Danube River that wind from the Black Forest to the Black Sea (no connection between color labels). There are many towns in the Black Forest with the first name Bad.  It usually means some kind of water based notoriety hails from a Bad town, mineral water springs, hot springs with public baths built around it or, perhaps,  a full-fledged spa.  Historically these locations have often led to local medical specialties developing nearby so you might have a town that is known for cardiac care or even cancer treatment.  Of course this title word ends up with some signage that amuses the native English speaker.  My two favored are a shop called “Bad Design” (out of business now – I wonder why) and, I guess I’ll call it my favorite, “Bad Restaurant” (in Frutingen, Switzerland which makes it both “bad” and overpriced).

The Bad Dürrheimer website (can’t you tell just how full my time is on hospital bed chemo? – it lacks the fast pace of the chemo-lounge but offers the luxury of Google) offers a narrative of the company’s Geschichtle (or “history”).  Below we “hear” it in Google Translate English (which is always amusing):

Beginning of the 19th Century it was caused by the high water Dürrheimer needs of the salt bath, and many wells. The water was pumped through wooden pipes open as well, so-called Teuchel. One of these wells was among the peasants of the village are highly appreciated. The water seemed to have a beneficial effect in horses and cattle have to.

Over the years, the fountain became more and more into oblivion, he was no longer used by the saline. In the early 50s, was remembered again and went on a search. The former mayor and senator spa director Otto Weissenberger argued:

"What is good for the cattle can not hurt the man."

Soon, you find it, let analyze the water and lo and behold - mineral water of the highest quality.

 Here’s their slogan: (better water, better life).  I kind of like, "What is good for the cattle can not hurt the man.” a bit more.  Of course, if that were true we’d be eating a lot more grass and learn to chew better.

Better drink, better life,

Didn’t Jesus have even a better line than “Better water, better life” while chatting with the Samaritan woman by Jacob’s well (a place both good for cattle and for people)?

JOHN 4:

4 Now he had to go through Samaria. 5 So he came to a town in Samaria called Sychar, near the plot of ground Jacob had given to his son Joseph. 6 Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about noon.

 7 When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” 8 (His disciples had gone into the town to buy food.)

 9 The Samaritan woman said to him, “You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?” (For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.[a])

 10 Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”

 11 “Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? 12 Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his livestock?”

 13 Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, 14 but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

His slogan: (Living water, ever life, never thirsty)

 15 The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.”… (a conversation ensues with the woman dodging and Jesus returning to point which is:)

 25 The woman said, “I know that Messiah” (called Christ) “is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.”

 26 Then Jesus declared, “I, the one speaking to you—I am he.”

 27 Just then his disciples returned and were surprised to find him talking with a woman. But no one asked, “What do you want?” or “Why are you talking with her?”

 28 Then, leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the people, 29 “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Messiah?” 30 They came out of the town and made their way toward him.

Don’t you love it – the beautiful artful detail – she left the water jug behind!!! She believed the slogan or at least was on her way to belief.

Living water, ever life, never thirsty

I don’t know what living water does for my kidneys but I’m happy to drink from it, from Him, deeply.  It does wonders for my hope.

Lymph Journal # 43

3/15/2012

A bright sunny day here in my room in the Freiburg Uniklinik.  I’m in a two person room with a young man named Thomas who lives about two hours from here on the Bodensee (aka Lake Constance).  He speaks excellent English, which is a big relief, although I must say my German is improving through all this.

The room is bright and cheery with a small balcony (big enough to stand on but not enough room for a chair) and part of the building I showed in yesterday’s blog.  Back side however but still interesting as people hustle by below this (third story Southwestern exposure) doorway along pedestrian and bicycle paths that converge.  I can hear the medical helicopters as they take off and land – twice so far this afternoon.  There’s also a chorus of crows somewhat overwhelming the springtime songbirds.  There are usually two or three at any given time hanging out near the mistletoe growths in the taller trees.  In a stream of consciousness fashion may I add that mistletoe extracts are used as an alternative of supplemental cancer therapy that, to me, seems a bit sketchy as it was pioneered by Rudolf Steiner the founder of Anthroposophy.  (Even the website “Die Mistel” waffles about why there are not very many gold standard randomized clinical studies – well, who knows).

At 6PM the crows get plenty of competition from church bells.  There are also a few ducks wandering the ground but I don’t see any water.

I’ve only seen one Green Woman so far.  One English language guide for the hospital mentioned that Green Men and Green Women might be seen in the course of one’s stay.  The explanation relates to their clothing color and they serve the equivalent of a Candy Striper in an American hospital (do the still have Candy Stripers?).

Today is a day of preliminary tests and getting settled in to the routine.  I don’t get the sense of hurry that you experience in a stateside hospital (where major surgeries are more and more shifted to an outpatient formula – “Yes show up at 9 for your heart transplant and make sure you have someone to drive you home”).  I’ve had blood drawn and my hearing tested (hearing damage is one risk of this protocol of chemo known as "VCP–E", there was a long list but they have to recite every possibility).  As expected my left ear flunked the test but I’ve known that for years – that’s why when Diane and I take walks she always is on my right side.  I warned the audiologist that my German was not so good.  She demonstrated that her English was non-existent but I proved able to follow directions.  Even better, she asked, when the testing was done, what I was in for (specifically where was the tumor – she thought that might explain my “uneven” hearing).  I replied regarding my lymphoma and she launched into a long monolog regarding her Mann (her husband) diagnosed with lymphoma in 1999 and today taking 100 km bike rides.  As I left I was wished “Viel Gluck” – come on, you can figure out what that means.  All in all, a nice experience.  This was followed by another examination and something new to me – maybe it’s a regular deal in the states but I’ve never seen it – tongue depressors made of stainless steel and presumably sterilized between uses rather than the oversized popsicle sticks I’m used to.

Over dinner conversation with my roomie I found out that he’s here as a healthy young man on a noble assignment.  He responded to a drive for bone marrow donation and his data matches someone who will be treated here.  Tomorrow is his procedure and he’ll leave Saturday – again, seems a bit different than the American way.

Meals are done here in a European mode meaning the “big” meal is lunchtime (Mittagessen – “mid-day” and “to eat” combined in the German way) and the evening meal (Abendessen – “evening” and “to eat” combined in the German way) is smaller and colder.  Tonight it was a cold (but cooked) chicken leg/thigh, raw carrot and some other pale root vegetable sticks with dip, bread and butter, an apple and optional tea.

By the way, here’s a shout out to my senior class (and some of my fellow staff as well) who engineered a delivery of a cash gift (generous and nice) and a booklet of greetings and well wishes (even more nice) to our home mailbox the other day.  Very, very good to hear from them.  Here’s the photographic proof:

Well, I think I’ll post this now.