home, and almost out of the woods

"Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine!
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
And through the rivers, they will not overflow you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, nor will the flame burn you.
For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior."
--Isaiah 43:1-3

I do not know how to express adequately the tremendous gratitude I owe to so many of you who prayed, visited, sent notes and flowers, helped to disseminate information and in countless other ways gathered around Karla and me over the last two weeks to carry us through this very unusual experience. Mom & Don, who came down from San Jose to offer whatever services they could, and to be a calming presence in the hospital room; Glenn & Shanti for sending out daily updates; Deb & Murray for coming by daily with an instinctive sense for what to say and how long to stay; our church community at Altadena Baptist, who so thoroughly surrounded us with prayers, visits, and acts of kindness that I could feel myself being lifted up and carried through the most difficult times; our brothers and sisters at Bethany for their frequent notes and calls, the peace plant they sent us, and the scrapbook filled with thoughts of friendship and encouragement; friends from all over the country who reached out to express their love and prayers; Kirsten & Scott and their church community for putting together a quilt to remind me that I was also in their prayers; the outstanding nursing staff in ICU; and so many others who took the time to come by once or twice and remind me that I was not alone. And of course Karla. How can I describe what it's like to share a life with someone so utterly and gratuitously committed to my well-being, who seems to love me more even as I get weaker, who willingly sacrifices so much? What has come home to me over the last two weeks--more than the precariousness of my health or any sense of dread of having to go through something like this again--has been an overwhelming realization of the large number of truly wonderful people whom God has allowed me to know and to connect with, and the humbling knowledge that I could never reciprocate a fraction of the love and support that they have lavished upon me.

So here's what happened. On Friday, March 23, I received the encouraging report from Dr. Iqbal that my tumors had shrunk considerably. However, cancer is not the only health problem I'm facing at this point. I also have congestive heart failure (likely a result of previous cancer treatments), and an array of cardiovascular problems that stem from that. On Saturday afternoon I was suddenly taken out by a respiratory infection that brought by blood pressure down to the 70s and made it almost impossible to stand up without feeling like I was going to faint.

On Monday morning, we were able to arrange an emergency meeting with my cardiologist's partner, who immediately assessed that I needed to be in the hospital, where I could receive medications to bring my blood pressure back up while still getting rid of excess fluid in the legs and around the lungs. On Tuesday, I was moved from a regular room to the Intensive Care Unit, and by Tuesday night it was clear that I was facing a more serious situation than either Karla or I had imagined. I was diagnosed with acute respiratory distress syndrome, which is a bit like pneumonia, only worse. The respiratory specialist who saw me that night suggested to Karla that it might be appropriate to start contacting family members and preparing for the worst.

It's hard to describe the hodgepodge of sensations that went through my mind and body those first two or three nights in ICU: calm, agony, fear, gratitude, delirium, resignation, desire, contentment. Physically, the first few days were pretty miserable. I had so much fluid in and around my lungs that I had to struggle to breath. The doctor had placed me on a 1200cc/day fluid restriction, so I was always thirsty. Late at night, my mind brought up images of children around the world who do not have access to potable water--the children to whom the Kingdom belongs. For a brief moment I felt a kind of solidarity with them, but I quickly awakened to the hypocrisy of that claim, in light of the fact that I was hooked up to thousands of dollars worth of medical equipment and surrounded by trained specialists working to restore me to health. No matter how you look at it, I've lived a rather cushy life.

By the weekend I had clearly made it through the worst, and on Monday I was released from ICU into a regular room. A part of me thinks that if I had been sent home the next day, it would have been for the better. But the doctors wanted to make sure that my blood pressure, sodium, and potassium were up to their normal levels, so they held onto me until Thursday. Unfortunately, the surest way to raise those numbers was to cut back on my diuretic and bring my fluids back up. As a result, much of the fluid that had been squeezed out of me in ICU came back, so that soon after returning home I was again having difficulty breathing and moving around.

Friday morning there was talk of my being readmitted to the hospital. Fortunately, I was able to work out a plan with my cardiologist for bringing my fluids back down, keeping my blood pressure up and warding off further infection. My breathing and energy level have improved noticably each day since. I'm still a bit fatigued, but am definitely on the road to recovery.

The cancer diagnosis back in November profoundly changed my thoughts about the future and my current priorities, but the change was relatively abstract. I think this experience has had a more concrete impact on me in terms of daily dietary changes, taking advantage of the gifts presented with each day, and focusing more specifically on how I want to spend my life. Somehow, I had developed the notion that I would see a six month warning signal, which would gradually tick down like the battery level indicator on my cell phone. But it's just as likely that at some point, after feeling fine, there will a sudden systemic breakdown from which I will not recover. I have little time to waste on unimportant things. Karla & I need to ask ourselves, if I have only 6 or 7 months left, what specific things I hope to do in that time. A few months down the road, God willing, we can ask ourselves that question again. I hope to be able to return to that question many, many times.