Tag Archives: Cancer

You Said WHAT?!

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Yesterday Jess and I got together with our mentor and good friend. He was in town from Kentucky (the fact that he lives there is something we have forgiven him of) and was kind enough to take time to be with us and to help me cross off one more of my must-go-to restaurants.

The purpose of the get together was to both catch up but also more pointedly to talk about me being sick, Jess finding space for health, etc. Our hope was that he could speak into our lives a little bit and bring some clarity and his hope (I think) was to figure out how in the hell he (and the Kairos community he represents) could tangibly help us.

In the context of this conversation he plainly asked Jess and I “Have y’all yet made arrangements for when Ryan dies?”

WHAT?! I mean, I know that I write it in my blogs. I know that I joke about it freely. But to hear it from another voice almost stung my ears. WHEN I die?!

Rewind a week ago to when I posted about our most recent MRI results. There was an outpouring of support that was amazing and wonderful. But one friend when she reposted my blog also commented in her facebook status that “her friend was losing his battle against cancer…”

WHAT?! I mean, maybe it’s true, but to hear it written out so plainly stung my eyes a bit. I’m losing the battle?!

Ugh, maybe it’s all true and maybe it isn’t. The medical facts say that it is. I want to think that it isn’t. And there’s room to accept both. It’s true that I’m losing my battle against cancer, it’s true that we’ve got to make decisions concerning when I die, and it’s been important for Jess and I to learn to talk about this stuff. But to read it from other sources, to hear it from outside myself was such a surreal experience–I’m not sure I even have words to write any more about it. But I need to hear and read these things. I needed people to repeat back what I’ve said, to repeat back what doctors have said, to bring me to a measure of reality–not that the future reality of my health is set by any means!

Regardless it would be wise of me to decide and write down who gets my basketball card collection if when I die. It may be 40 years down the line or 40 days. We really don’t know do we?

Finally (and with complete and utter seriousness) please know that this blog wasn’t written in some morose and depressed state. It was, in fact, written with a sense of lightheartedness. I wasn’t sad to read/hear my friends words. I was, in fact, impacted by them and their simple honesty. Unlike my words in this specific blog where I dance round and round ideas and thoughts, those two sentences cut to the exact heart of what I’ve written, thought, and even spoken. What was so shocking was how simple, real, and true those statements were. So please don’t think this is as much a downer blog as it is…as it is…well, I’m not sure what it is. It just is. Is that enough? 

Polishing up the Tarnish

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I’m convinced that there’s no right way to deal with crisis, pain, and stress.

I’m convinced that all the right ways of dealing with crisis carry with them shadowed areas.

I’m convinced that my way of grieving and dealing with this stuff elusively captures much of my own dysfunction.

I’m convinced it’s just all one big mess…and that’s ok.

My dysfunction is to have no feeling or opinion, to keep myself buys with things that don’t really matter (our books need to be categorized by color don’t they?), to genuinely be fine…even when I shouldn’t be. For example, I ran into a number of different people yesterday who innocently asked how I was doing–and my rote response was “I’m doing really good!” …but then I had to pause most of those times to say “well, I mean, I’m doing ok. It’s been kind of a rough day…” It was the best I could do. Saying I was good was actually a lie, but a lie that I believed until I cognitively compared it with reality. My friend Steve kind of can’t stand me because he’s one of the most genuine guys I know and so when he asks me how I’m doing and I respond with “great” or “fine” he believes me (shoot, even I believe me) only to find out that there were great things in my life that I shouldn’t be fine about. It drives him nuts and he’s a good enough friend to call me out on it. And I love him for it.

Anyway, I’m getting in too deep in the wrong direction. What I want to talk about is you. Some of you deal with the brokenness of life in a similar way as me. Others of you deal with brokenness in other ways–good ways, healthy ways, ways that you’re created to respond in. Each way has its baggage for sure but that’s just part of the whole.

Some of us get angry when things break. Some of us have major fears triggered by brokenness. Some of us get busy with menial things (me!). Some of us put our heads in the sand. Some of us go into depression. Some of us resort to indulgence. Some of us cry a lot. Some of us talk it through while others clam up. Some of us are compelled to fix it. We’ve all got our ways.

I firmly believe that not a single thing listed above is inherently worse than another (and please don’t think I’m trying to create any sort of exhaustive list. Essentially I’m pulling a Brick Tambland looking around the room to see what comes to mind. I’m surprised I didn’t include something about some of us loving lamps) They’re each different and they’re each valid and they each carry their dangers. I probably SHOULD be more angry than I am. Anger is justified right now though to live in anger and allow it to control me would lead to unhealth.  I should have a genuine measure of fear regarding my situation. Fear is justified, but it shouldn’t control me. Sometimes keeping my mind busy with goofy tasks like organizing my paperwork is helpful but if it keeps me from ever engaging with reality then it becomes a toxic pleasure. The list could go on and on.

We each deal with shit in our own way–and we’re each invited to not be controlled by it but to be freed to be who we are, to be freed to live into the identity that God gave us and is shaping within us. As humans we were created perfectly beautiful but we’ve grown a layer of tarnish. Anger isn’t the tarnish and neither is being a fixer and neither is being a busybody and neither is a season of depression. Part of how God created me allows me to write freely and give you a window into my journey of learning to grieve…but if you were around me…if you saw me day in and day out you (and Steve) know that my baggage makes it hard to be honest with myself about what’s going on. I’m fine. I’m always fine. Being always fine is my ‘tarnish’ coming out. At times it makes me look good… awkwardly even heroic sometimes…but it’s just another picture of how we’ve all got our ways of dealing with grief…tarnish and all.

Crisis invites us to have our tarnish polished up a bit in hopes that we might better reflect the beauty of the one who created us in their image. Kind of a crappy ride if you ask me…but what do I know I’m too busy reorganizing my library by color, shape, and title to notice.

Hope in the Face of New Tumors

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I’ve been toeing the line lately between hope and reality. There may be a better way to say that or capture what I mean by it because I realize that the truth is that in many ways what we put our hope in IS the reality. But in my context the reality is that I’m dying of cancer. We found out yesterday that there are two new tumors in my spine. They’re small but they’re there (that’s a lot of there’s in one sentence!). One is in my neck and the other is in my lower thoracic spine. Bad news. I also found out that my lungs have not yet fully recovered from the pulmonary embolism back in July, there’s still some residual clotting which means that I must continue on my blood thinners for another three months when we’ll check again. Bad news.

The reality is that this tumor seems to be an active little guy. The reality is not very hopeful. AND YET there is reason to hope. I’ve become convinced lately that hope (for me) can’t come through an ignorance of things as they are. Pretending that this isn’t bad news or watering down the news to something that feels easier doesn’t allow me to hold onto hope in a way that feels authentic. We each find our own ways of dealing with reality in its brokenness (because life is broken isn’t it!) and for me it’s beginning to come through a recognition of the ‘badness’ and a choice to hope despite it.

Ultimately my hope is not in healing. My hope is in resurrection, in a body that won’t decay, in a world that will be restored as God intended, a life lived in communion with others and the Communal God–in the restoration of all things. But I am also choosing to hope for healing, to hope that God chooses to let me experience a glimpse of that future reality today: a whole, healthy body allowing me to live a whole and healthy life.

The more I recognize the brokenness of my reality the more beautiful God’s redemption can and will be. Two new tumors? Ok. So if God chooses to bring healing it’ll be an even greater story. I don’t like it but I think I’m OK with it. If God can bring healing from one tumor…what’s a couple more? And regardless, like I’ve said from the very beginning–God desires to tell a story through each and every one of us regardless of whether we’re aware of our bodies decay or not–the question is what kind of story will we let him tell?

Lastly, and with great joy, I can also say that while there are two new tumors in my spinal cord I have absolutely no new symptoms to validate any new growth. Physically I have been healthier the last month than ever (this is all relative to how poorly I’ve felt over the last nine months of course)! It’s been a great season of health for me and it’s worth celebrating! And because I’ve got no new symptoms to validate the MRI results we are not going to change my current treatment. We will reevaluate in two months and we will continue to monitor my body, looking for any new symptoms. Until then we’ll continue on with my chemo treatment for five days on and 28 days off. Thank you for your prayers and support.

peace.

My Bucket List: 30 Things To Work Toward

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I freaked many people out accidentally when I posted on Facebook about creating a bucket list. Oops. I didn’t think about the fact that you create those things when you’re dying! I had a few friends text me and others silently worry, wondering “Did you get bad news? Did something happen? Are you ok?!” Oops.

I’ve never been a bucket list kind of guy. I like to say that I’m too practical to do bucket lists and new years resolutions though it might be better to say I’m too lazy or too skeptical or too…something more negative. My personality type is so incredibly laid back and go-with-the-flow that creating nail ’em down lists that extend beyond the here and now (I make many lists for what I need to accomplish today or tomorrow) sounds very unappealing. But two things happened in/around me. One is I’ve grown tired of my life being defined by maintenance and fighting cancer and I’m feeling a genuine need to be about more than this (that’s why I pierced my ears). Secondly, as I entered into the new year one of my “Enneagram Thoughts” that I get emailed nightly in order to challenge me as a “9” on the Enneagram (if you’re not familiar with this stuff it’s worth your while! Do the simple test here) suggested that I be willing to step out and actually write down a new years resolution and that I (hold your breath) actually follow through with it with intentionality and purpose!

So, all that is to say that I’ve created a bucket list because I need to work toward some things, I’ve got to be in pursuit of things larger than the now. With a bit of work and some fine tuning I’ve got my first draft down to 30 items. So here she is in all her awkward glory:

Ryan’s Bucket List:

  1. Go to Europe on backpacking trip
  2. Go to Disneyland and stay at Grand California Hotel
  3. Own an iphone
  4. Get a pedicure
  5. Attend World Cup Game
  6. Write and perform poetry
  7. Smoke a Cuban cigar
  8. Get another tattoo
  9. Create a will
  10. Write a book
  11. Pay off school loans
  12. Take Jess to New York City
  13. Get published in a (reputable) magazine
  14. Drive 100 mph in a car
  15. Go on a prayer/silent retreat/go to monastery
  16. Take the family on a mission trip
  17. Be a part of a community garden in my neighborhood
  18. Touch a midget
  19. Go on trip to Seattle and Vancouver BC (and really get to know Seattle more)
  20. Go to Vancouver lake and Frenchmans bar
  21. Dad and kids trip/camping thing (3 trips, one for each and one together)
  22. Have every neighbor on our street over for dinner (or eat in their home)
  23. Eat at every restaurant on my “can’t miss list” (I’ll post this soon)
  24. Give blood (this may take some time but it is possible!)
  25. Go on a Motorhome/camper road trip
  26. Go to lesbian world series softball game
  27. Watch American Film Institutes top 10 movies of all time
  28. Perform Karaoke
  29. Learn to speed read
  30. Learn to Dance

Can’t Help But Hope

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If you live in Vancouver you’ve dealt with disappointment. In the last week we saw our first snowfall of the winter come in all of its glory. It was beautiful, it was exciting, schools closed, the roads were covered…and the rain washed it away before a child could even really play in it. It was disappointing.

I’m realizing that disappointment is something that I spend much of my life avoiding. Disappointment hurts. I don’t want to look foolish by hoping for something that I’ll only eventually be let down by. Hope hurts. Hope causes you to raise your expectations, it creates vulnerability, it puts you in a place where you can be sorely hurt and let down. If you don’t hope for something you won’t get disappointed if it doesn’t happen. If you don’t hope for something you’ve placed yourself in a protected position, hedged against hurt, against potential shame, against embarrassment.

I’ve spent much of my life avoiding disappointment…but I think I’m ready to be hurt by hope. I think I’m ready to be disappointed by hope. I think it’s worth it. And I dont’ think I could have come to this place genuinely without the process that took me here.* In my first seven months fighting cancer my faith journey had to take me to a place where death was acceptable. And it still is. Death is unavoidable, death is nothing to be feared because death has been overcome (thanks for that JC), death has no permanent hold on me. I HAD to come to a place where there was hope even in death (not just despite death but even IN death). I had to believe that God could and would tell a story through my life, my sickness, and my death. But God did not is not leaving me there. God is inviting me to risk being disappointed by hoping for healing. Most people jumped straight to this place, their first (and only) prayer was for healing, their only expectation was that God would heal me. But I couldn’t make that jump both because I don’t fully believe it and because I couldn’t fully believe it until I was willing to see God in healing and death.

Today, and for about the last month, I’m ready to hope to be healed. I’m expecting to be healed. I’m planning to be healed. I might be wrong, I may be sorely disappointed, I may get hurt…but that’s the nature of hope isn’t it? Hope hurts. Or in the words of Foy Vance “hope deals the hardest blow, yet I cannot help myself but hope”

* That’s a bit of a redundant sentence…a bit goofy, though I’ll defend it’s truthiness to the end…and, yes, I did just say ‘truthiness’