Here we are. It’s Monday again. You know, that day that comes after a weekend. It happens every week about this time. Folks bemoan it, “Oh, man! I gotta get up and go to work! I wanna Sleep!” Others are a tad more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, “Yay! A new week! Let’s Go!!!”
For most of us, it’s just another day in a long string of days that sort of blur together.
This Monday marks one week since I had that colonoscopy thing that revealed cancer.
And, I really don’t know how or what to feel about that.
The first couple of days my gut was tied up in knots. I couldn’t eat or sleep. My mind racing all over the place. “What’s next?” “How do I fight this?” “Why me?” I didn’t fall into that category of people who try to deny the reality of their illness. I was ready to put up my fists and kick some ass.
But, I was in that Betwixt and Between place of knowing and not knowing. I knew something was not right…but, not for sure. The doc said that it was probably cancer. Probably. I waited four days in that place until I got the official word. Yep, cancer. Now, even though I now know kind of what I’m up against, I still must wait. I had a CT Scan to see if the cancer has spread. Waiting on results. I have a date with a surgeon. Waiting for that day.
Living in this Twilight World is hard. My heart goes out to those of you who have already experienced this. It’s no longer day. It’s not quite night. It’s something else.
So, no, I don’t know how I should feel right now. After the initial shock I guess that I just feel numb.
Not denial. Just numb. Not angry. Still numb. Not really anxious. Numb again.
As an aside, this is really an interesting dive into what’s involved with being human. I’ll post more thoughts on that later. For now, I do appreciate your consideration during this time. Those whom I trust I know will walk with me. The rest? I hope that they will be moved to care for themselves and their loved ones.
LOS ANGELES – JANUARY 8: Patrick Stewart as Captain Jean-Luc Picard in the STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION episode, “The Hunted.” Season 3, episode 11. Original air date, January 8, 1990. (Photo by CBS via Getty Images)
First, I want to say Thank You for your gracious outpouring of support. I do appreciate it a lot.
The main reason that I want to share what’s happening with me with all of you is to emphasize the importance of screening and preventive measures. Colon cancer is extremely common. And, it’s one of the most treatable cancers. That is, if it’s caught early enough. (Hopefully, mine has. We’ll see next week.) Yet, even though these facts are true, many, if not most, people will never get tested. I don’t mean those mail-in poop-scoop tests that are advertised on T.V. While any action is good, the only truly accurate way to detect the illness is by colonoscopy. You may say, “Ewww! They stick a camera up your butt!!!” Well, yeah they do. They also give you versed. That alone may be worth the test.
People complain about the costs involved. Those without health insurance are afraid. Right now, I believe that the basic test is considered a Wellness Visit. So, there’s no copay and whatever insurance you do have covers the entire cost. Now, if there’s any kind of treatment that must be done, like pathology or any complications, you may be liable for that.
But, what are the consequences of NOT getting tested?
Actually, for a lot of folks there will be none. They will never have any issues at all. Good for you all! You’ll also never know for sure, will you?
For the rest of us? Colon cancer kills. That’s the alternative of not getting tested. By the time symptoms become too great to ignore, it’s likely too late to treat successfully.
So, the point of all of this?
If I am one of the fortunate who can be successfully treated and become cancer free, then I hope this story encourages you to see a doc soon. Especially, if you are high risk. Ask your doc what that means or do a simple Google search on risk factors. Then, we can celebrate my success together.
If, however, I find that things have turned sour and I’m not one of the successful ones, then I hope that what I share will: 1) Still encourage you to get screened. DO IT!!! 2) share with you the inevitable part of our human journey that none of us gets a pass on.
In any case, I really hope to be encouraging through all of this. If my experience helps anyone else avoid this, then Yay! And, I expect that sharing this will be therapeutic for me. Processing the whirlwind of facts and feelings can be overwhelming. Sharing these, writing them down, helps me to sort through them and manage them more effectively.
So, if you would be so kind, Follow this blog for updates. Feel free to comment your own thoughts and feelings. Particularly, if you’re impacted by something yourself.
So, now, let’s get started! In the words of Captain Jean-Luc Picard…
I shared a few weeks ago that I will soon be joining the ranks of the Retired. After nearly 50 years working in commercial printing, I’m hanging up my computer. I will be spending more time with, well, this computer. We have been working to prepare for this. Getting the finances squared away; signing up for medicare; gloating about it to my co-workers. You know, all of the important stuff.
And, things seem to be progressing nicely.
But, as with most things in life, the things that we don’t see are the ones that tend to impact us most. We try our best to prepare for every contingency. What if the water heater blows up the day after I retire? Can we pay for a new one? Check! How about the car? Check on that, too!
How about your health? Well, I’ve got that dicey cardiac thing pretty much under control. So, yeah, Check!
What about your cancer?
Wha?!? Who?!? What cancer?
The cancer that’s been growing in your colon, dummy!
But, I don’t have any cancer!!! I eat right and exercise and don’t engage in high risk activities! I even get regular colonoscopies to make sure that nothing’s happening!
Well, you did skip a year and a half. Right? You were supposed to have a scope in 2018. But, no, there was something else going on. And, the previous two scopes had been clear. Nothing to worry about. Right?
Wrong!
This past Monday I went in for my routine, but belated, colonoscopy. I wrote a bit about it here. Afterwards, the Doc came in to give us the results. There were a few polyps. No biggie. They snip them off and we’re good to go. There was something else, though. A mass in the ascending colon. They took a biopsy and sent it to pathology. The doc, however, was pretty sure what we were looking at. Cancer.
Yesterday I received the results of the pathology. Yep, suspicions confirmed.
Not how I had planned to begin my retirement. Hell, not in any plans for anything at all! But, there you go. The things you don’t see are the ones that can derail you.
What now?
Today I go for a CT Scan to see if this bugger has spread. Hopefully, no. We have hopefully caught it early enough that it is self-contained. If it has not spread, then next week I meet with a surgeon to go over how they will remove it. The best case is that they will take it out and I will live happily ever after. The way things are going, though, I’m not overly confident.
Right now I am consumed by conflicting emotions. I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know how I SHOULD feel! I know there are folks out there who have experienced exactly what I am. I don’t want to be a whiner and do the whole, “Woe is me!” thing. Especially when you are dealing with far worse.
But, we each process things in our own way.
My way is going to be to process it here. I want to share this experience. Well, not SHARE it. I can assure you that you do not want this! I want to share my experience with you. What’s happening physically? The tests and the doc’s reports and surgery. All the good stuff that cancer patients get to have. What’s going on emotionally? What thoughts and feelings are racing around in my head…my body. It looks to be a roller coaster ride that rivals anything at Cedar Point. What is this doing to form me Spiritually? Where is Yahweh in all of this? IS Yahweh in ANY of this?
So, for the next little while I’m going to write about these things. Sure, I’ll still write the other stuff, too. But, this is important right here; right now.
I invite you to come along with me on this journey! Lord knows that I can’t walk it alone. Your company is appreciated. I also encourage you to share this and invite others to come along. This is part of our shared human experience. So, Please, share on your social media, at the dinner table, with co-workers…anyone and everyone.
Hopefully, in a little while I’ll be able to share with you OUR victory over this thing.
I came across that hashtag on twitter yesterday. Since I am one, I decided to see where it would lead. To say that I was unprepared for what I read would be understating things. The amount of hurt and anger radiating from these tweets would rival the sun’s heat. I was truly taken by surprise.
I didn’t experience the same emotions that many of these other adoptees did. As I reflect back on my childhood, I really don’t know why I didn’t have those feelings.
Abandonment. Loneliness. Isolation.
Perhaps my adoptive parents were just different than others. Maybe they cared enough that I didn’t consider myself anything less than their son. Even though they never hid the fact that I was adopted, they always treated me like their own. So, maybe I was special in that regard. I grew up with nothing but gratitude to them for giving me a chance at a good life.
I do remember asking about my birth parents. What I don’t remember are answers to that. Like many of the folks tweeting about this, my adoptive parents deflected that question. They tried to get me to focus on what I had with them. Not what I might have had in another life. I really can’t blame them too much for that. They had feelings that they wanted to protect. I suppose the prospect of rejection from the person that they felt they had sacrificed so much for was difficult for them. You see, my adoptive parents had tried for nearly a decade to have a child of their own. Physical issues didn’t allow that. They wanted to have children, though. So, they took the only avenue that was open to them. Adoption. For that, I should be grateful, I guess.
There was something missing, though. As a young child I had no idea what that was. I had neither the ability to process those feelings, nor the language to express them. So, for the most part, I stuffed them. I remember when I was 12 I was talking to friend who was also an adoptee. When I shared some of my regrets at not knowing anything about my birth parents, he told me not to think about them. His feeling was that his birth parents didn’t love him enough to keep him. So, screw them. They weren’t worth the effort to even consider. I accepted his logic. Hey, it made sense to 12 year old me!
And, I lived with that assessment. I never gave my birth parents another thought. Yeah, I was reminded that I was a type of singularity with no roots every time I went to the doctor and had to answer the question about family traits with, “I’m adopted.” But, even that became a point of pride with me. It made the doctor squirm a bit. I liked that.
When I got married I suppose my wife and I discussed the fact that we had no idea what kind of genetic issues might lie hidden in my closed adoption records. But, we didn’t let that stop us from bring new life of our own into the world. Yeah, it might have been helpful. We realized, though, that even in the most solid families with a great pedigree having children can be a crapshoot. Likewise, birth families with a history of physical and mental issues can produce a perfectly well-adjusted child. As they say, There are no guarantees.
What changed the equation for me was the night I received a phone call. The person on the other end introduced himself as the husband of my sister. Hmmm…I don’t have a sister. Or, do I? My first inclination was that this was a scam of some sort. Even though the voice gave me all sorts of details about the person he said was my birth mother, I had no way to corroborate those. I knew nothing about her.
We met that evening. I took my wife and we drove to the place that we had arranged. When we walked in I spotted them immediately. Over in the corner of the restaurant was a young woman who was more frightened than any deer caught in headlights. Yep! That’s her! We sat down and introductions were made all the way round.
The story of their surprise trip was, well, interesting. It turns out that our mother was emotionally handicapped. At some point she was, as my newly minted brother-in-law said, “Taken advantage of” by an older man. Voila! Enter Me. Our mother was living with her parents who were apparently abusive. They force her to give me up. Now, we need to understand that in the year that I was born was during a time when abortion was illegal. Mothers of children born in our circumstances were shunned and treated like whores. The social stigma of this was a price too high for them to pay.
So, I was placed in some kind of orphanage. At least,that’s what I was told. When I was 6 months old, my adoptive parents entered. I had a rather pronounced birthmark on my upper lip. So, at that time I was considered “handicapped.” That didn’t stop this couple from taking me in as their own. Again, I should be grateful. I could have easily languished in “The System” for years. But, I was placed in a warm and loving home. And, I never really looked back.
After I met my sister, the time came for me to meet my birth mother. You see, the whole reason that my sister tracked me down was because our mother, besides her disability, was overcome with remorse for her lost son. She lamented the choice that had been made for her by her parents. So, my sister and her then husband thought that if they could locate me that would bring some closure and peace to our mother. So, we drove to their place and met her. The meeting was good, I think. Our mother was overjoyed at finally finding me. We did all of the first time meeting stuff with hugs all around and tears and all of that. We set up a time for them to come to our place and visit.
Then, I told my adoptive parents what was happening. I’m not sure what they felt. Hurt? Anger? Fear? All of the above. My mom said that she had feared this day. She asked question about what I had learned. When I answered them, she admitted that she knew the answers were correct because she had the documentation that identified my birth mother. She had my original birth certificate with the name that my birth mother had originally given me. She knew these things and never told them to me. Again, I can understand her actions. I get it. I’m not sure that I will ever agree with them, though.
Be that as it may, this is the life I’ve been given. I have no choice but to accept it an get on with it. And, it has been a good life over all.
There were things, though, that didn’t seem to add up. So, I began to seek counselling. Over the years those folks I talked to have all stopped when I told them of my adoption. All of them point to that one event as being the primary shaper of who I am. And, in every case, I doubted them. After all, I was only 6 months old! How much could that short time be problematic?
Well, apparently a lot. The lack of emotional connection in the earliest DAYS of life can have devastating effects on a person. How? In my case it is most pronounced in my own inability to form and maintain any close emotional connections with others. This has snowballed into people considering me aloof, selfish, closed, and distant. And, people are right! I am all of those. And, more.
Are they a result of my separation and disconnect from my birth mother? Maybe. Or, do they have their roots in the fact that my adoptive dad was also aloof and seemingly unable to make deep emotional connections? Maybe, I got hit with a double-whammy!
In any case, here I am over six decades later still wondering…still imagining.
Will anything be proven by anger, hurt, or any other negative feelings toward either my adoptive parents or my birth mother? Oh, hell no. That would only amount to me punishing me for something that I had no control over.
All I can really do is try to live into the life that I have created with my wife and our family. No, I don’t do it all that well. Like I said, close emotional bonds are not something that I am capable of. But, I can’t blame those who came before me for what I have done with the raw materials that I was given by means of both nature and nurture.
Hey, all! I’m going to divert just a tad today. Over the years I’ve attempted to write about, well, anything at all. Ok, I try to stay away from U.S. politics. That’s way to divisive even for me. That was one of the main reasons that I walked away from all social media a little over a year ago. The vitriol and hatred I witnessed was too much for me. I was loosing sleep and suffering from anxiety. So, yeah. I needed a season for self-care.
Recently, though, I returned to the fray. I am being far more selective of people and groups that I follow and interact with this time. I don’t want to end up chewing my fingernails and muttering to myself.
What I do intend to do, though, is utilize the wide influence of social media to promote my own writing. With retirement looming ahead, I am continuing to work through what I intend to do with my time. And, believe me, there are a multitude of options knocking on the door. I will not get bored!
My greatest hope is to step up with writing. Ever since I can remember words have been important to me. They are the clay with which I mold both statuary for aesthetics and beauty as well as the bowls and cups with which I eat and drink. In seminary I found that I could actually write well. Not great, by any stretch. But, I was adept at it and enjoyed doing it very much. So, to test the waters I began a blog. It wasn’t much to begin with. I jotted down thoughts and ideas that happened to be walking around in my brain. Now, over 450 blog posts later, I am more intentional about things that I write. I write with a specific audience in mind. Yeah, I still toss out the odd poem or essay from time-to-time. That’s just how my brain works, I guess. And, I will continue to do that.
So, back to the social media thing. I am going to use Facebook, tumblr, twitter, and maybe Instagram to post my work. My intent is to build an audience, a tribe, of followers who will be directed to my blog. I desire that people read, follow, and share with their friends what I write. Eventually, I hope to either morph the blog into an Author’s website, or create a new site as my home as an author.
Yes, I intend to use this blog and my social media accounts to write and promote my original content.
That said, I would not be disappointed if you all would ‘like,’ share, comment, or follow this blog and any content that I post to social media. Yeah, this is a brazen attempt at self-promotion. It’s awkward for me to do this. The page is turning to reveal the next chapter of my life. Using words to create worlds and universes are written into that chapter. I guess that I’m asking you to join with me as I journey into the unknown.
I don’t think that anyone really likes looking in mirrors. Regardless of how much of a narcissist we may be, I think that we always find something lacking. There is some imperfection that our eyes immediately zoom in on. There’s that hair I missed while shaving this morning. And, damn! it’s right under my nose! Or, that zit that appeared in the last five minutes. Or, there’s a new wrinkle.
And, yet, we must look at ourselves in order to view these things. How can I get rid of that hair if I don’t see it? Yeah, riddle me that!
Oh, I suppose I could not look and wonder why when people look at me their eyes are drawn to that spot on my face that’s growing an oak tree sized hair. Of course, they would be too polite to say anything. The hair would remain until I could see it in a reflection of some sort, whether a mirror or Narcissus’ pool. Then, I could shave it off and all would be well again.
There are other kinds of reflections that we don’t like to see.
Yesterday I had the pleasure of visiting with our parish priest and his husband as they opened their home to us. They provided food and good hospitality. Many from the parish stopped in to visit share our time and lives, however briefly, with one another.
As I sat, munching on some really good food, (thanx Rob!), I listened to various conversations. People talked about art and ballet, restaurants and theater. They shared about their kids and their homes. They laughed and joked about high prices and low values. It was a typical gathering of folks living in middle-class America.
And, I felt hopelessly out of place.
It’s not because I don’t live a privileged life. I do. Nor do I begrudge these others their good fortune. I don’t.
However, there’s no way that I can relate to them. I’m from a different era than most of these. While my parents tried to keep up with the Joneses, I am a child of the 60s. We had an idealism that pretty much abandoned that whole race of the rodents. And, it seems 50 years on I still hold to some of that old idealism. But, there is a part of me that would really, really like to be able to afford tickets to Broadway plays or to travel in order to see some exhibit of art or ballet. The bottom line is, though, my wife and I simply can’t do those things. Especially now that I’m looking at retirement. There are limits, some of them pretty constricting, to what we are able to do.
That leads me to my confession.
Envy.
Yep, that Green Eyed creature that lurks in the blackness of want and desire. While I would really like to think of myself as above such material things that these other folks were talking about, I’m not. Don’t think ill of me. I’m just a guy who struggles with the whole being human thing.
So why is this an issue?
My envy belies something that is deeper than just desire. It reveals a feeling of entitlement and superiority. I am exposed as someone common and vulgar. Envy shows me that I am still attached to stuff. There are still gods and idols that my heart and mind bow to that are not worthy of my attention. Yet, they snatch and grab at me. My eyes become averted from the overwhelming blessings that I have received and focus on what I don’t.
That’s why it’s an issue. I looked in the mirror and saw envy staring back at me. Hopefully, now that I see it I can cut it off.
Here we are, folks! The holiday season is upon us. Turkeys will be roasting. Families and friends will gather for Feasting, Fun, and Fellowship. Soon, the holiday lights and Christmas trees will appear in lawns and windows. Cookies will be baked. (Some might even last long enough to be decorated!) Carols and hymns will be sung. Gifts will be exchanged.
Yippee!
Did I ever happen to tell you that I really, really hate this time of the year? And, no, Hate is not too strong of a word. I, and many, many others like me struggle every year at this time. Anxiety keeps me awake at night. I have to watch that anger doesn’t leak out and splash on everyone. My wife asked what I hoped to see happen this holiday season. I told her that I would really like to go to sleep on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and wake up on January 2. Of course, that was blown off with a “Bah humbug” response.
But, for a lot of us, this season isn’t something that can be easily blown off with light platitudes. The anxiety is real. Many of us also struggle with S.A.D. every year. That just adds to the mess that our hearts and minds become.
We do try to put on our holiday game face. “Joy to the World” and all of that. My desire to hibernate through the season hasn’t worked yet. So, I must play the part as best as I can. Keep the peace and all of that.
I’m sure that I’ll get through this year, just like I have every other year. January will come eventually and I can get my life back a little.
But, when you see me, or anyone else like me who struggles with this season, please don’t tell us to just get over it. Don’t mumble something like “Bah humbug” that only adds shame to our already full plate.
Give us space. We’ll get through this with or without your help. We always do.
In fact, we don’t want your advice. We’ve heard it. At least, I know that I’m taking steps to work through this time. So, thanks, but no thanks to the ‘helpful hints.’
Yahweh, Fear is niggling around the periphery of my consciousness. It forebodes failure. Anxious that I will be found false, I hurry to my corner where my blanket lies with the big, fluffy pillow that I wrap my arms around and hold tightly to my heart.
Lord, I sometimes wish wistfully; waiting; wanting That I could simply sit and share quietly among the multitudes who call on You. It would be so much simpler to get lost among those who shine far brighter than I. Then, perhaps, the dimness of my own light would be covered, drowned and no one would notice me cowering at the edge.
Yeshua, When I read the stories of how you ran to hide away from the masses in the early hours of the morning, I see a kindred Spirit. In solitude with Abba we can rest secure. It is only when the crowds press us into action that the anxiety rises like a tide driven by hurricane force winds. A tidal surge that inundates and drowns.
God, But, that’s not how I’m wired, is it? No, for better or worse I have been blessed, (cursed?), with a mind that can see and understand things. I am given words and music that overflow and must be channeled in order to irrigate and nourish others.
This morning during the quiet time that I devote to spending time with God, I noticed something. You see, the time I have is somewhat limited. Yeah, I get out of bed early so that I can have any time at all for this. But, there are things to do and places to go.
I usually spend my time split between prayer and journaling. I say journaling, but it’s really a written extension of my prayers. And, it may be my favorite time.
Which brings me to today.
As I sat quietly, I found myself concerned about the time. Was I going to have enough time to write 4 or 5 pages in my journal? Would I be able to get everything done in time to get ready for work?
That’s when, I believe, the Holy One told me to stop. I was not really ‘Present’ in that moment. I was looking forward to what ever came next.
And, God wanted to spend time with me Now.
So, I stopped. I changed my course and sat quietly. Within a moment or two I could feel God’s Presence with me. No, it wasn’t a profound ‘Ah Ha!’ moment. Nor, was it some ecstatic experience.
I simply became “aware” of the Divine Presence with me At. That. Moment.
Now, I know the theological explanations about how God is always with us. God will never forsake us. And, all that other theology-speak that really doesn’t help.
When God’s Presence is experienced, all of those high sounding words become, well, like clashing cymbals and noisy gongs. They are meaningless.
The idea of Being Present, or Becoming Aware, is not new. Nor, is it the sole property of folks who follow Jesus. It is foundational to many religious traditions.
Vietnamese Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, tells a story about thisvery thing that has become transformative in my life.
Today’s Tuesday. Yesterday, well, that was Monday. And, I didn’t post anything. Sorry if the 2 of you who actually visit here missed me. But, I was unable to write. Not because I was too busy with other tasks. That’s never really stopped me before. If I have something that needs to crawl out of my brain and onto the Internet, Well By Gawd, I’m gonna get it out there! No, I had different impediments. Stuff that does, in fact, keep the crawly stuff locked up inside. First, I haven’t been sleeping well. And, Sunday into Monday I was working on about 5 hours. That’s after weeks of maybe 6 hours on average. My mind simply said, “Nope. Not thinking today. And, there’s nothing you can do about. Nya Nya Nya.” And, my mind was right. There was nothing gonna shake any words loose. The other thing happening was that I was an emotional wreck. My mind said it was too tired to write, but, Hoo Boy, not too tired to race around like a squirrel on crack. I could not have put two cogent thoughts together if my life depended on it. Thankfully, it didn’t.
So, what’s going on?
I’ve shared a little bit about the journey that I’m presently walking. Emotions, Passions, Thoughts, you know, all that sensitive artist kind of crap. And, I have to tell you, this journey is fraught with all kinds of pits and obstacles and beasties and such. But, it is a journey that I must undertake. Now. At this time in my life.
I’m finding that with all of the hope that I had earlier in life to embody Mr. Spock from Star Trek, I am too human. My emotions leak all over me like the oil pan of one of my old cars used to leak all over my driveway. And, these emotions can be just as much of a sticky mess and hard to clean up. Maybe, harder.
I’ve discovered that I am hyper-insecure. As I look back over my life and look deeply into my heart, I have always been like that. I fear rejection, for sure. More importantly, I think that I fear not being accepted.
So, I push for responses that might give me a glimmer of hope that you, (whoever that is), might give me that I’m not the waste of skin that I feel that I truly am. I say and do things that we both will regret. Not because I’m a creep or some narcissistic boor. But, because I’m afloat in a sea of doubt surrounded by the dense fog of uncertainty.
Now, some shrink may look at me and say something about how I must have felt rejection when another child was brought into my childhood home. Mom and Dad had to set me aside so they could include the newly added soul. Or, they might say that there is a hidden memory and wound from being given up by my birth mother for adoption. Lord knows I’ve heard that before.
Or, maybe, just maybe this is how I’m wired. Nothing broken. No wounds or hurts. It’s just part of my Melancholic personality type.
Honestly, I don’t know where the roots of insecurity lie. Don’t know if it’s even important to know. The fact is, this is where I am and I need to deal with it.
Deal with it? What’s that mean?
Hell, I don’t know. Fix it? Heal it?
Learn to embrace it and live with it? Maybe, someday be able to celebrate it?
I honestly don’t know. And, I may, (re. Probably), never know.
I do know, however, that I am what I am and that’s all that I am. So, the journey continues.
