Post Number Eleven

  

Graduation Day

Twenty-eight treatments finished.  The first phase of our battle against this cancer is over.  As yet we do not know the effectiveness of these treatments and there is surgery and follw on chemotherapy to come in the future.  Never the less, this is a kind of graduation day.  No more daily poison.  No more morning routine of irradiation.  Now is the time to retreat to our beloved cottage on Lake Louise for a few days and share what I call prayer and pancakes.

Not preaching this Sunday but still curious as to the lectionary I discovered that Song of Solomon 2:8-13 makes a rare appearance in the cycle of readings.  Could any scripture be more appropriate?

"Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away; for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.  The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come...Arise my love, my fair one, and come away."

Dave Gladstone

Post Number Ten

 Making It Personal

The bills for Terry's care in this battle against cancer have only begun to come in.  Never having dealt with this situation before, I began to fear that the cost may well overwhelm us.  A bill for her latest CT scan just arrived.  It totaled nearly $4,000.  It was just one of maybe ten such billings we received this past week. Responding to my anxiety, I called Don Emmert - the DAC benefits officer - to find out how this works and just how good our coverage is.  Don is a treasure.  He knows his stuff and he knows how to answer questions clearly.  I learned that the health care insurance provided to Detroit Conference clergy is excellent and that we will be covered or reimbursed for most if not all of the expenses we can expect to encounter.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  Both Terry and I felt strengthened for the battle knowing that we have the resources to pay for her treatment.

What a tragedy that the same is not the case for all people in the United States.  The present debate over how to pay for health care has taken on a very personal nature for us.  Both Terry and I cringe when we think about the 45 million in this country who have no coverage at all.  From a Biblical perspective in this modern age this is simply a national sin.  We have accepted that health care is the privilege of those who can afford to pay for it rather than a right enjoyed by all.  Those who are quick to talk about the United States as a Christian nation, but who still oppose health care coverage for all need to reread Matthew 25 once again.

There are no Nazis beating down our doors.  There are no "death panels" except for the ones that come when an insurance company denies coverage that could save a person's life.  There is no proposal to take away Medicare coverage from senior citizens.  All of these things are examples of evil's old trick - distract people from the real issues of justice and compassion by playing upon their fears.  Remember my old guideline for detecting false prophets - If they proclaim what your should fear rather than what you should stand for they are certainly false.

Dave Gladstone

Post Number Nine

Waiting Room Therapy

We are getting toward the end of Terry's daily radiation therapy. Taking the next treatment is a morning act of will each and every day.  Monday was especially difficult.  The doctor offered Terry a week off to let her body rest.  She turned him down.  She would rather endure the discomfort and the battle for control over her own body than opt for a rest that would push the final day of this treatment down the road another week.  I was so proud of her.  I cannot stand what is happening to her.  I cannot imagine what it is like to go through what she must now go through and what awaits her in surgery and in the chemotherapy that will follow.  If she ever decides she needs a rest I will call for it with all my might.  But this time she gritted her teeth and said, "let's continue."  Terry does not think of herself as brave.  Monday proved her wrong.

I have learned that there is a kind of waiting room therapy for cancer patients.  Complete strangers meet every morning for radiation therapy and sense the need for support and understanding.  This therapy is self administered by those who's bond is their schedule of daily treatments.  Here are people facing the most unwelcome of life experiences.  For some there is serious hope that enduring these brutal and primitive procedures will lead to complete recovery.  Others are more desperate.  They know that this is just a bargain for time.  Some are there for the first time.  They are looking at the first of 28 or 40 or 60 daily irradiation's. Others are nearing the end of this phase of their battle.  Some have companions.  Others are alone.  Spiritually and emotionally they regard one another as equals.  They speak encouraging words and offer prayers for one another.  They sincerely rejoice when one finishes their schedule.  They embrace anyone who is there for the first time.  There is no judgement in that room.  There is only love - the kind of love that is only possible when all pretense is cast aside.

In this waiting room therapy I am an intruder.  I do not share the bond of common illness and suffering.  I am once removed. Never the less, I recognize holy ground when I see it.  Waiting room therapy is holy ground indeed.

Dave Gladstone

Post Number Eight

THE POWER OF LIMERICKS

Years ago, before kids, while Terry and I were on a long trek across the great plains, Terry and I helped the time go faster by composing limericks as we drove. At first the silly poems were about our pets at the time. Terry's cat was named Esser. (Don't ask me why. It makes no sense.) Esser was black and very proud. For Esser we wrote:

There once was a kitty named Esser
Who would constantly jump on the dresser
At a shout from Ma Niles
She would say full of smiles
“Of my tricks this is one of the lesser.”

I wrote one for Terry.

There once was a lady named Terry
Whose smile was quite cheerful and merry
With her hair oh so red
As it fell from her head
She was often mistook for a cherry

Terry wrote one for me.

There once was a fellow named Dave
Who everyone thought was so brave
He directed the youth
Who were really uncouth
And got all the people to rave

Now that Terry has little to do except go to therapy and work at her computer, she is spending time looking through old files.  She came upon these limericks this past week and sent them out to Carl and Mary and cousin Rick.  That set in motion a flood of family limericks that kept us all in stitches all week.  The construction does not always fit the form, but these silly poems went flying back and forth and worked magic on our beleaguered spirits.

For Mary, Carl wrote:

There once was a sister named Mary.
Whose back was unusually hairy.
Her ears, they were pointy
Her knees quite disjointy
On the whole she was rather quite scary!

For Carl, Mary wrote: (Not quite fitting the format.)

There once was a dumb dumb named Carl
He thought he was ridiculously smart
But when he would walk
And when he would talk
All you could hear was him FART.

Every time I would open an email I would find dueling limericks.  It was wonderful.  We laughed all week and kept the compositions flowing.  It was a wonderful tonic to our present stress.  That is why I wrote this one and sent it out:

A family is never dysfunctional
If in crisis they muster the gumption all
Need in the moment
To write a short poem that
Brings a quick smile in their stress 'N all.

Dave Gladstone

Post Number Seven

Connecting The Dots

I finished a sermon today that I will deliver tomorrow morning in worship.  It is entitled Connecting the Dots.  The scripture is 1 Kings 3, the story of Solomon's encounter with God as he becomes King following the death of David.  The story is rather sparse. Solomon asks God for an understanding mind in order that he might govern the people of Israel wisely.

It put me to thinking about the childhood game of connecting the dots.  I used to think that connecting the dots was for the purpose of revealing what is to come. Was Solomon wise because he could understand the direction in which things were headed or was he wise because he made the connections and understood how the flow of life fits together?  

 I am coming to understand this time of illness as it fits into the overall picture of our marriage.  This is the first time life has really forced me to connect these dots.  For Thirty-five years we have had it easy.  There have been some trials.  My failure with the church in Downers Grove, Illinois comes to mind.  Never the less, both Terry and I have remarked in the past as to how good life has been for us and how we have escaped many of the troubles others have faced.  That is no longer true.  For better, for worse.  For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.  The sickness dot is now our reality and I am eager to understand how it fits into the matrix of our lives.

Here is one way.  Our love for one another has deepened with each passing year.  Our comfort with each other has taken on an ease that brings a solid foundation to each day.  There is no doubt between us.  As irritated as we might become with one another the trust we share is profound.  This sustains me as caregiver.  Terry's illness is no threat to our relationship.  It is a new reality that we will face as we have faced everything - together.  That is the way Terry treated me when the Downers Grove church sent me packing. She was hope bearer in my despair. Now it is my turn to bear the hope for her.  Come to think of it the dots to be connected are dots of hope.  Illness is just a blemish in the paper.

Dave Gladstone