What Am I Up To Now?

Thanksgiving and a Woo-Hoo!

2010-11-25T08:11:00.000-08:00

First the woo-hoo. I was standing in line at a grocery store yesterday, and suddenly it occured to me: I feel normal. My energy was about right for that time of the day, no stomach distress beyond a little hunger, my musclses didn't feel fatigued and, unless I had checked, I didn't feel any tingling or numbness in my fingers. There was no looming dread of some procedure on the horizon. I just felt... normal. I was standing in line to buy apple juice. Nothing else. So that is my first Thanksgiving for this year.

But the big one, the one I want to make sure you all hear, is for you. Our friends and family who have been carrying Olivia and me all these months, in your hearts and prayers. For all the times you inquired how it was going, or just thought of us, THANK YOU!

May your Thanksgiving be blessed with gratitude, freedom from want, and good health. And friends like you.

Blessings on you all.

Another Funny/True

2010-11-22T08:55:00.000-08:00

Energy has been waxing and waning of late. Some days I get out and do a lot, some days it's work to get out of bed.

Test Post

2010-11-15T09:18:00.001-08:00

I'm just testing a mobile blogging app on my iPod. Nothing new to report.

Back After a Break

2010-11-14T22:44:00.000-08:00

Dear Friends,

I recently read a post on another blog that claimed the most common post on blogs was an apology/explanation for a lack of posts...

Well, ahem, yeah. Let's just say I've been going through a dark period. Nothing too serious. In fact, when I met people they told me how good I was looking and how well I seemed to be taking all of this. But I chose when and where I was seen and who I talked to. This venue is a little more public (I checked Google analytics and there's even someone in Poland following this blog. Go figure) and it just didn't feel right to either lay out what was going on in so public a forum or to write posts that weren't reflective of what was really going on.

So, what was the dark period about (now that I've got a little perspective)? I think it was reaching another level of truly accepting what is going on for me. The reactions from my chemo sessions are cumulative and it was starting to catch up with me. I now have neuropathy in both hands and sometimes in my feet. This means the tips of my fingers are always tingly and somewhat numb. I have difficulty holding things sometimes and it's often a challenge to open jars, tie knots, etc.. The worst part is that it really feels as if part of my body has died. This side effect usually goes away after chemo stops, but nothing is guaranteed and anyway, in the meantime, it is a constant reminder that I am ill. My digestion has also been off more often. And for someone who derives a lot of pleasure from eating, this is not fun. The fatigue was getting deeper and more frequent. I stopped shaving my head and didn't notice any change. And so with chemo four and five (of six), I was thrown into a funk.

And yet, I thought, who was I to complain? I've got a great group of friends and family supporting me, my prognosis is excellent, I've got a roof over my head, food on the table, a place to rest my head at night. But those things didn't seem to matter. I didn't feel well (I still don't), I wanted this to be over (I still do) and I was worried about the future (I still am). This was almost more depressing than anything else. I once had someone ask me, "Don't you EVER have a bad day?" I prided myself on being Mr. Sunshine. You know, walking on the sunny side of the street and all that. And there I was, unable to pull myself up by the bootstraps. Heck, I couldn't even feel my bootstraps (see above).

But tomorrow is chemo number six. The last of this series. While I am not looking forward to the inevitable drop in my well being that comes as a reaction to the drugs, I know that after this it's only going to get better and better. Nothing gives you hope like... hope. I've kept my prayer life active (although that as well has felt like a desert of late) and I have often thought of all of you and your prayers and good thoughts.

In closing this post I want to apologize to those of you who wrote over the last two months and didn't get a reply. It was not meant personally, but was just a major pulling back on my part. Enough said.

Blessings on you all.

There's a Cure for That...

2010-10-02T05:24:00.000-07:00

It's called chemo.

This is from a web cartoon called Garfield minus Garfield. The author searches past Garfield cartoons and photoshops out all the characters except Jon. The results are often surprisingly good. Just Google "garfield minus garfield" if you want to see more.

From the site:

Garfield Minus Garfield is a site dedicated to removing Garfield from the Garfield comic strips in order to reveal the existential angst of a certain young Mr. Jon Arbuckle. It is a journey deep into the mind of an isolated young everyman as he fights a losing battle against loneliness and depression in a quiet American suburb.

Blessings on you all.

Miracles, Public and Private

2010-10-01T03:55:00.000-07:00

According to Wikipedia, “A miracle is an unexpected event attributed to divine intervention.” It continues with, “A miracle is sometimes thought of as a perceptible interruption of the laws of nature. Others suggest that God may work with the laws of nature to perform what people perceive as miracles.” Although these definitions all contain qualifiers - “attributed to”, “thought of”, “perceive as,” I truly believe I have witnessed miracles in my life and the lives of those around me. I would like to share three stories of recent miracles in my life.

The first occurred just before I became ill. As some of you know, in May I was privileged to lead 19 eighth graders and three of the world’s kindest, most patient adults on a class trip to Santa Monica and Catalina Island. Although the trip was filled with what I call “minor miracles” (most of them dealing with the minors), the one I would like to relate happened upon my return. Due to scheduling challenges, our 25th wedding anniversary fell within the span of the trip. Luckily, my wife was one of the adults I mentioned earlier, so we were together for the anniversary. We were able to waltz together that night on the Santa Monica pier (to the music of a street performer who later appeared on this season’s “America’s Got Talent”!), and during dinner that night, I re-proposed to her. Afterwards, while the class was spending time on the beach, I removed my wedding ring and put it in a safe place so that I wouldn’t scratch it while playing in the sand. The next morning when I went to where I thought I had put it (I was wearing cargo pants and a coat at the time and had access to three bags, so there were easily two dozen places it might have been), I didn’t find it. Thinking I had misremembered where I put it, I got on with rounding everyone up to travel back to Sacramento, meanwhile checking other places as I had time. By the time we had returned, I was pretty sure I had checked everywhere it could be and still had not found it. But I was not worried, at my age losing things and then finding them is a weekly, if not daily occurrence. However, after a day at home I had checked every pocket, crevice, and container I could think of and still no ring. I finally gathered all of the clothes and bags together on my bed, spread them out and put my hand into each possible hiding place and wiggled it around. Nothing. As I stared at the bed, I realized the ring was truly lost. The sense of loss was enormous. It was then that I closed my eyes and prayed. I don’t think I have ever prayed as fervently for anything in my life. I expressed my complete faith that even if the ring had fallen out of my pocket and was lying in the sand on the beach, God had the ability to bring it right back to me. I expressed that my desire for the ring was not for its monetary value, but for it as a symbol of my love for and marriage to Olivia that He had blessed. And finally, that if it be His will that I lose the ring, I would let go of it. When I opened my eyes, the ring was on the bed. In the center of the bed where I had just been staring in desperation a few minutes ago. Six inches away from any of the bags or clothes. Now, my rational mind wanted to believe that it fell out when I was shaking everything and I just didn’t notice. Yeah, right. I was LOOKING FOR IT. When I opened my eyes it wasn’t across the bed or tucked under something, it was right in front of me, away from everything else, in plain sight. I said a prayer of gratitude for this “perceptible interruption of the laws of nature” and put away my bags and clothes.

The next miracle I want to speak of happened (or more accurately, became evident to me) today. On Monday I received another ct/pet scan to check on my body’s response to the chemo therapy. As part of my 4th round of chemo today, I met with my oncologist where she gave me the good news that according to the scan, all evidence of the lymphoma was gone, in what they call a “complete response” to the treatment. (In case you are wondering, even with this news, the current chemo treatments will continue for two more sessions and there may may be another year or two of maintenance treatments of a lesser amount.) Although I have been praying for this and statistically it only happens in about 30% of cases similar to mine, this was not the miracle I want to tell you about. That occurred after I returned home. As soon as I had the news I called Olivia and let her know. She immediately sent out a missive sharing our news. When I returned from chemo, I found my email box filled with responses and congratulations. Most were simply one or two words. The effect on my heart and spirit was definitely an “unexpected event attributed to divine intervention.” While I have been greatly aware how we have been carried in all of your hearts and prayers and thoughts, the response was overwhelming. Just seeing the word “Yay!!!” or variations on it brought me to tears. The miracle of friendship and love was manifestly evident. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

And the last miracle? Back when I first began this journey, I was driving to the doctor’s office when day, when I saw trees. I thought of them in all of their seasons. I thought of the beauty of them. What we receive from them. The lessons they teach us. I began to think of all of creation in this light. How could I have missed all of this going through my daily life? These are not miracles of unexpected events or perceptible interruptions of the laws of nature. This is God working with the laws of nature to perform miracles. I pray now that I keep this awareness once this trial passes. May I continue to see the hand of God at work in all of His creation. May the blessings of family and friends continue to flow to me and through me to others. And may God bless you all.

One More Thing...

2010-09-27T22:08:00.000-07:00

Some times it does feel like this, however.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig

2010-09-27T22:05:00.000-07:00

Even in the midst of great pain, Lord,
I praise you for that which is.
I will not refuse this grief
or close myself to this anguish.
Let shallow men pray for ease:
"Comfort us; shield us from sorrow."
I pray for whatever you send me,
and I ask to receive it as your gift.
You have put a joy in my heart
greater than all the world's riches.
I lie down trusting the darkness,
for I know that even now you are here.
— An improvisation on Psalm 4,
by Stephen Mitchell

This is a prayer that has been on my lips often since this journey began. Although, there have been times in the midst of rough patches when, "if it is possible, let this cup pass from me," has been my prayer of choice. These last two weeks at the Rudolf Steiner Health Clinic in Ann Arbor, Michigan, have given me a chance to relax into a more healing space, both bodily and spiritually. The days were filled with color, singing, movement, art, fine vegetarian food and other forms of therapy, with plenty of time in between for rest. The nights, unfortunately, were filled with many sleepless hours, most likely due to unfamiliar surroundings, the time change and the amount of rest I was getting during the day. All in all, it was very restorative, but I am VERY glad to be home. I, like Olivia, felt our separation keenly this time.

One of the highlights of the trip was time I got to spend with our good friend, RC. We had an interesting discussion on the difference between asking for healing and asking to be cured. I have been feeling this is a journey of healing for awhile now. From the very beginning, once I knew this illness was not just a cold or flu, I have been living with the questions What is the lesson in this? How can I see the gift in this? This has often led to a greater intimacy with the people I meet and with life itself. It has been healing on many levels. But in talking with RC, I realized that I have been reluctant to pray for a cure. One thought was, if I pray to be cured and it doesn't happen, does that mean I'm not worthy? Another, deeper, thought was, if I am cured, will this healing, this intimacy stop? Will I slip back into passing my days only half (or less) aware of the beauty around me? I heard it once said that nothing focusses a man's thinking like the knowledge he is to be hung in the morning. The same is true, I think, when diagnosed with a serious illness. On one level, I was afraid of losing that clarity of thought. However, in discussing this with RC, she helped me see that it doesn't need to end, and that it is much deeper that just this illness.

And so my prayer the last few days has been for SPONTANEOUS REMISSION! If it is God's will, let the pet/ct scan show no sign of cancer! Let the doctors be completely flummoxed! Let them order a second and a third scan because they can't believe it! Who knows? It could happen. And if it doesn't, it's not because I'm not worthy or didn't pray hard enough. Just like my getting cancer, it is just what is.

Quick Update

2010-09-11T23:41:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends,
Thank you for inquiries as to why there has been a dearth of updates of late. There really is no great explanation. It was just boredom and avoidance for the most part. Boredom with continually finding myself too tired to do what I would like to do. Boredom with most of my conversations being about me (but again, if you want to know what's going on, please ask. I don't want anyone to feel this illness is a taboo subject. Just tell me what you've been up to as well). Boredom with needing to eat bland, soft foods at times to avoid indigestion. Boredom with trying to remember if I took my meds at 6 pm like I was supposed to or did I forget.

And the avoidance... well, in the last few days I've needed to come to terms again with the very real fact that this possibly means a reduction in my life expectancy and ongoing conditions for quite a while in the meantime. This is not going to be like a session with the flu, with a period of discomfort and then it's gone. I will probably at the very least be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life, wondering if our roommate is waiting to make a reappearance. And I didn't particularly want to look at this. But the gift of this roommate is that he is always there right now. No matter how hard I try, I am daily reminded that life is real, life is important, I need to find meaning in my life or my life will be meaningless. When I thought I had a good number of years of vitality ahead of me, a day or two frittered away didn't seem like much. But now...? It's not that I do much differently, but that the flavor of my life has changed. Even when surfing the web or watching the hummingbirds outside my window or playing a game on my ipod, there seems to be a soft voice in the background asking, "Where is the meaning in this?" I am finding the most meaningful moments, the times when that voice is silent and I say to myself, "Ahh! There it is!" are those I spend with friends and family and other people I meet, even when in silence.

Well, it is late and I still need to pack. I am going away tomorrow for a two week healing retreat in Ann Arbor, so there will be another gap in posts. But this time for a better reason.

Blessing on you all.

"And I'm Hovering Like a Fly, Waiting For The Windshield On the Freeway"

2010-08-20T08:04:00.000-07:00

That's from FLY ON A WINDSHIELD on the album THE LAMB LIES DOWN ON BROADWAY by Genesis, another record I wore the grooves out of and then bought the cd. I always thought it aptly described those moments when you're hit by something completely out of the blue.

As you have probably heard from Olivia's missives, (aren't they gems?) this last weekend at the retreat did not go as planned. It was my first attempt to be productive for an extended period of time outside the house since May. We have been part of the Family retreat at Christ the King for the last two years and were looking forward to this year's retreat with enthusiasm. After my diagnosis we included down times for me so that I could gather strength for the sessions I would be involved in. Friday evening went well and I even left the bonfire early as planned to gather strength for the morrow. There I was, hovering, blithely unaware of the windshield approaching.

Around 12:30 am I awoke with a fever and unable to use my left leg due to a sever reaction to an injection I had taken on Friday morning. This induced near panic (I only say near because I wasn't able to run around the room, flailing my arms in a full blown panic). The oncologist had been insistent that if I experienced a fever THIS WAS VERY SERIOUS AND I NEEDED TO CONTACT HER IMMEDIATELY!

(editor's note: I actually had the next few paragraphs carefully crafted and typed out, but due to a computer fumble, they somehow disappeared. They were written yesterday when I was in a better mood and more awake [I was only able to get about three hours of dozing in last night]. So if you notice a change of tone in the writing, well, there you are.)

Unfortunately, all of my contact numbers were on my iPod that I had given it to Fr. D. to recharge. So we sat and fretted; who do we call first: the anthroposophical doctor that had proscribed the injection as a support for chemo? The oncologist who had said "CALL ME IMMEDIATELY!"? We quickly realized we could call no one until we called Fr. D., who not only came over to deliver the ipod, but graciously sat with us through calls to and from message services, offices and cell phones. In the end, we determined I wasn't going to die (that night), that the anthro doctor had expected something of this sort, but not so strong, that the oncologist wanted to put me on antibiotics starting the next day in case it was an infection (which is still her opinion after seeing the spot yesterday) and that I should rest and drink lots of fluids.

And that was the end of my involvement in the retreat. The rest of the weekend I had the song "Unforgettable" by Nat King Cole running through my head, except with the lyrics "Unreliable, that's what you are, unreliable, though near or far..." We were staying in a room at the retreat house which was fortunate because I had an angel (who doesn't always see how far her wings do spread) taking care of me, bringing me food, keeping me hydrated, all the while carrying BOTH of our parts of the sessions. Saturday, Sunday and Monday were three "Even a Seal in Your Bathtub" days for me (see previous post).

So by Tuesday I had started hobbling around with a cane and by Wednesday was feeling much better, which led us right into "Waiting for the Windshield" part two. But that's for the next post.

Blessings on you all.

I Have Some of Those

2010-08-20T07:14:00.000-07:00

Blessings on you all.

Fever Is Back

2010-08-15T21:37:00.001-07:00

It may be due to one of the meds, or an infection. I'm on antibiotics now. Whatever the reason, this sucks. No pithy words of hope, no deep insights, just this sucks. As my good fried Br. K. said to me, we should learn to accept what the Lord sends us, but we don't have to like it.

Blessings on you all.

Another Quick One

2010-08-12T22:03:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed my new photo to the left if you come to this blog via the front page. That's not due to the chemo. I decided to be proactive and shave my head. After all, cancer can't take away from me what I'm not attached to, right?

Blessings on you all.

Close to the Edge

2010-08-12T21:56:00.000-07:00

No, that's not a comment on my state of mind. It's the name of the title song from an album I was enamored with in high school. The refrain goes "I get up, I get down..." over and over again, which aptly describes my physical condition of late.

The reason I haven't posted anything lately is because, well, it's been fairly boring. I mean, once I got over the stomach distress in the week right after the chemo session and wrapped my head around the the idea that this cup will not pass me by and that, although just a couple of generations ago this might have been a death sentence, it's fairly curable nowadays, it's really just been, "I get up, I get down..."

My day goes about like this: up around 5:00 am, shower, eat breakfast, read email, poop out and rest/sleep till noon, get up, eat lunch, work a little on school paper work/organize bills/read, poop out, rest/sleep until dinner, watch tv/maybe do an errand, poop out...

Earlier this week my friend, K., who went through her own bout with cancer 4 years ago, drove me down to school to help clear my personal stuff out the classroom. This took about two hours, including 40 minutes in the car. All I did was look around the room for books and small items and hand them to her. But afterwards at lunch it felt as if it was 10:00 at night and I had been hard at work with physical labor all day. I find I can't trust my inner clock any more because once the sun goes down I would swear it's 1:00 am when it is only 9:30.

But, don't get me wrong; I'm not complaining. So far, this has been a small price to pay for a return to health. It has meant a drastic change in how I schedule my days and how I define myself, but I have always tried to be flexible in my life. It always seems to come back to this: I am led down (or offered, I'm not sure just which) various paths in my life. The more I pray and accept grace and guidance from the Lord the more these are like learning steps and less like beatings. It's kind of like the t-shirts you see around renaissance faires that read, "The beatings will continue until morale improves!" and I'm the morale officer.

So I leave you with a note I've had hanging on my wall for years titled "Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Lake Woebegone:"

Be cheerful
Be useful
Mind your manners
Don't feel sorry for your self
Life is good
God loves you

Blessings on you all

Found Around the Web

2010-08-06T12:15:00.000-07:00

Some images have taken on new meanings in the last month or so.

You don't say?

I know how you feel!

And, of course, this is written in stone.

I Have Cancer

2010-08-05T11:39:00.000-07:00

I have cancer.
These are strong words. Powerful words. Serious words. My dad died from cancer. But, at that time, in my mind cancer was a disease older people got. Smokers got. People who ... what? did things I avoided doing got?

I have cancer.
The doctors call it lymphoma. Cancer's too big of a word, covers too many conditions. "You don't have cancer, you have lymphoma." (Not an actual quote, but implied.) Lymphoma can be cured, or at least arrested. The chances are high that I'll come through this alive and healthy. The chances are also really high that it's going to be painful and uncomfortable and depressing and challenging and yucky while I walk this path. Mouth sores. Fatigue. Nausea. Hyper-vigilance against infection. (I'm not allowed to floss my teeth because I might cut my gums. Who am I now, the Boy in the Bubble?)

I have cancer.
And so I get chemo, too. Oh, joy. The treatment wasn't so bad. I expect that they will continue that way. But after, there was a sense that something was wrong. An ache here, a pain there, a bit of indigestion. Just enough to remind me that I had chemicals dripped into my body that are designed to kill parts of me. For one of them the nurse has to sit by you and watch your reaction as it starts, because if it some how leaks out of your veins (who knew that could happen) it instantly kills all the surrounding tissue. And this is to make me better.

I have cancer.
Want a change in perspective on life? Get cancer. Things you used to think were important now don't mean diddley-squat. Don't like the way you are feeling emotionally? Wait an hour, the New Revelation Express is right around the corner, barreling down the tracks, headed your way. I am still working from an acceptance of cancer in my life as an opportunity to grow and learn, but this is now starting to be punctuated with moments of sobbing in abject fear. Not of death, not even of pain. Just the unknown. My life for the immediate future is blank to me. I'm on a rudderless ship without a map. I take heart in the fact that the stars still shine overhead, but there are times they grow dim and I can't remember the star charts I have studied.

I have cancer.
Welcome to the club! Did you know this stuff is all over the place? People you walk with, talk to, pray with, meet daily have lived through this. I guess it just doesn't come up in conversation, like, "Hi! Glad to meet you. I had cancer." Once they find out you're a member though, they're happy to share their stories. There's no discrimination, but so far, I'm only in the first level of the club. Gotta pay my dues to get to where they are.

I have cancer.
Isn't that special? Those of you who know me are aware I don't mind being in the spotlight. But now it seems that's all my interactions consist of. This is understandable when I'm dealing with the health profession. And I don't mind friends and family asking me how I'm doing or wanting to know the details of my treatment. I would rather they asked if they are curious; I don't mind talking about it. But after awhile I find myself embarrassed by all the attention. Or, is it more honest to say, afraid that it won't continue? I'm not sure. This is still an area of question for me.

I have cancer
So, these are some of the thoughts that have been swirling around my head as I come to grips with this. I continue to pray for acceptance and guidance and gratitude for those who are walking with me. Please hold my sister in your thoughts as well, as she deals with her breast cancer. And please say a special prayer for our caretakers, who, although they have broad shoulders, are being asked to carry a lot right now.

By the way, did I mention I have cancer?

Blessings on you all

More Housekeeping

2010-08-02T13:25:00.000-07:00

If you seemed to have missed reading a post, be sure and check the "Older Posts" list to the left (you may need to scroll down to see it). Depending on the settings on your reader or browser, you may only be seeing the very last thing I posted which, as in this case, could be very boring.

Blessing on you all.

My First Chemotherapy Session

2010-08-02T13:22:00.000-07:00

First off, let me say that if I had to choose this path, there are no better folks to travel on it with than all of you. The love and support you have shown through your emails, comments and letters is astounding. Gratitude and appreciation are small words compared to what you have given us.

Luckily, this includes our medical support as well. One of the first things we noticed when we visited the oncologist was how caring and involved the office staff were. They greeted returning patients by name, showing genuine concern and interest in them beyond their illness. It helped greatly in this difficult situation.

On to the chemotherapy. I'm getting a cocktail of drugs called R-Chop. I won't go into details, they are on the web if you want to know more. The one point about this that affected my session was that the R drug can cause different reactions in different bodies. Some people get cramps, some the shakes, loss of feeling in the extremities and other symptoms. So when they administer it the first time, they start off slowly, gradually upping the dose throughout the day. This meant that it took six hours for just that bag to drip in (all but one of the chemo drugs are given through iv. The last is sent home in pill form). After that bag was done there were two quick "pushes": drugs administered through the iv line by syringe. Then one last drip bag. This led to a long day (7 1/2 hours). In addition to the chemo drugs, there were muscle relaxants, pain pills and an anti-anxiety drug (it worked goood! I got the giggles as it was administered). The good news is that I didn't react to the first bag, so next time the whole session should be under 3 to 4 hours.

The room this all takes place in is very pleasant. You are seated in a comfy recliner, with access to a cable connected tv and wireless internet. There are plenty of windows so there is a lot of natural light. There are snacks, tea, juice, and coffee provided and the nurses are always checking in to see how you are doing or if they could get you something. Except for the iv, it was almost like flying business class. Since I had the longest session, I was pretty much the first one in and the last one out. There was an easy camaraderie among the patients, lots of smiles and good wishes.

Even with all of the electronic toys to distract me, I spent most of my time dozing or thinking. The best part of the day was when I spent some time looking out the window at the street scene below. Ordinary life seemed so... poignant isn't quite the word. It's not so tragic. I was moved to tears watching people enter and leave a McDonald's, cross at a crosswalk, hustle people for spare change, go about their daily routine, etc. It's like in one sense, I've been taken out of all that and put behind a glass wall. My "normal" life now involves drugs that cure me while making me sick, plenty of free time with little energy to do anything with it, more loving support from others than I ever thought was possible. This last year was filled with rushing from one project or event to the next and now I've come to a dead stop. All those weepy-chain-emails-that-I'm-supposed-to-send-to-5-of-my-best-friends-if-I-really-love-them make me sob at times (by the way, I actually enjoy getting those, but hardly ever send them on. I still love all of you). I'm not sad at my situation, it just that all of life seems so sweet looked at from this side, even the simplest of things.

So that's the view after chemo session one. Five more to go, one every three weeks. I'm tracking my energy and reactions, hopefully to get a sense of when I will be up enough to do things. It's not too bad now (three days later), just mild stomach distress, low energy and a slight headache. There are dark periods to my thoughts (When driving to a doctor's appointment today, I contemplated slamming on my brakes, walking back to the car behind me and shouting: "WOULD IT KILL YOU TO USE YOUR TURN SIGNALS SO THAT I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE PLANNING TO DO?!!!"), but they pass. We continue on, taking it as it comes.

Blessings on you all.

Cancer Explained: The Cure for Cancer

2010-08-01T06:10:00.000-07:00

In my morning jaunt around the interwebs, I found this article. It gives a good, simple explanation of what cancer is and why there is no one cure. Interesting point from the article: the problem lies with individual cells promoting themselves to the detriment of the whole body.

Cancer Explained: The Cure for Cancer

On the Lighter Side...

2010-07-31T21:22:00.000-07:00

In an effort to be proactive, I shaved my head before my first chemo session (they said one side effect would be total hair loss. Total. Hair. Loss.). We then pulled out a bunch of hats to see which one was the best. You can vote on your favorite by using the poll on the left.

Au Natural

Ranger Rick

London Cabby

Larry of Arabia

Giant Smurf

Egghead

Dapper Dan

Arrg Matey

Renaissance Man

A Little Blog Housekeeping

2010-07-31T08:57:00.000-07:00

I've changed the layout of the blog a little because I got reports that people were unable to leave comments. There should be a box below the post where you type in your comment. I you don't see it, try clicking on the post title to bring it up in a separate page.

Blessing on you all.

Runaway Roller Coaster

2010-07-31T04:15:00.000-07:00

So this is what it feels like to be grabbed by the scruff of the neck and dragged onto a runaway roller coaster.

On Tuesday the doctor got back to us with the news that I have stage 3, grade 3, non-bulky, follicular lymphoma. Chemotherapy was on its way and I should be hearing from the office soon to schedule it. "Great!," I thought, "more quicksand." But the office called the next day and set us up with chemo class the following Wednesday and the sessions to start that Friday (i.e., a week from yesterday). So Olivia and I went to Mass on Thursday morning and set up dates with friends there to take advantage of our last "normal" week before we began this trip into the unknown. We had been told there are side effects, we can treat them, but you can't always plan around them as the can be random.

However, just before lunch that day the office called back and said we should come in that afternoon for the chemo class and show up the next day ready to start the treatments. What happened to our "last normal week?" I had originally asked if the schedule could be adjusted so that I could attend a cancer retreat at the Rudolf Steiner Health Center in September, thinking that there would be a larger gap between two of my sessions. Bu an early start was the way it needed to be to accommodate those dates. I know I was in shock at the suddenness of this and I'm sure Olivia was as well. I was just starting to wrap my head around the idea that this wasn't a "wait and see" situation and had been looking forward to some time getting used to the idea of chemo.

We had a friend coming for lunch that day who has gone through this (actually an even worse) process. Luckily, we were still able to meet and share a meal with her. What a Godsend! Although everyone's treatment is different, she was able to lovingly demystify the process for us. Not so much the nitty gritty details, but how it affected her and her family. she also had her treatments at the center I to attend and sang their praises highly. This was the information I had been desperately seeking, the human reality behind the clinical trials and survival rates. It renewed my courage and faith in the workings of God through all of this.

So, it was off to class that afternoon (another fear-relieving process) and on to chemo the next day (which I'm still thing of as today, but by the clock that day ended 4 hours ago. One of the drugs I take after the chemo causes drowsiness and one keeps you awake, which probably explains why I'm writing this at 4 in the morning, feeling like I could go on forever while at the same time misspelling every other word (thank you, spellcheck).

I'll save the story of the actual treatment for another post. For now, I'll just say the worst part was that I wrote this post on my iPod (twice!) and deleted it accidentally before I could send it.

Blessings on you all.

Slowly Sinking in Quicksand

2010-07-27T06:23:00.000-07:00

That is how it feels. I received a message from the hematologist (oncologist?) this evening saying that the pathologist hasn't had time to do a full report on the second biopsy yet, but did confirm that the lymph node taken from my neck showed follicular lymphoma as well. She hopes to be able to give me more info tomorrow. In the meantime, it 's again 'wait and see what comes.'

They say that if you ever find yourself in quicksand the best strategy is to stop struggling, lie down and wait for help while trying to work your way to solid ground. Sounds good in theory. But the urge to struggle, to scream and shout, to thrash around, can be strong at times. I do find myself calmer than I think I should be. Although the feelings of worry and fear come up, I watch as they pass, seeing how ineffective it would be to hold on to them. Again the question arises "Yes, you have a more serious diagnosis than before*, but how does that effect your quality of life here and now?" Because here and now is all we really ever have. I sit here typing this and this is where I am. I imagine my family and friends (that is all of you, dear readers) hearing these words, and yet, right now, here I am. In a short while I will go to bed and in the morning arise and continue my life. The reality is I am just as alive now as I was two months ago. If anything, I've been feeling more alive lately, since what the future will bring is less certain.

So, on we go. Please remember, you may leave comments by clicking the pencil icon below this post (it's not so much that I'm looking for feedback, but I'm curious as to who is reading this). You can also click on the tabs above to subscribe so that you're alerted when I add a post (not that I think what I write is so gripping, but I feel guilty when I skip a few days and imagine you coming here only to find nothing new).

Blessing on you all.

*Through all this I have gone through the possibility of (not in any particular order): common cold, flu, strep, mono, fever of unknown origin, lung infection, heart infection, Q fever, Valley fever, Lupus, Lyme's, HIV, West Nile, and various and sundry bacterial infections. Thus the 'sinking in quicksand' feeling.

And The Results Are...

2010-07-25T12:52:00.000-07:00

Well, as some of you already know, the biopsy of the lymph glands in my pelvis revealed follicular lymphoma, a non-aggressive form of cancer. Unfortunately, this did not explain my symptoms, so it was off on the hunt again. A head-to-knee PET scan with CT overlay was ordered. Now, if nothing comes of all this but these tests, I am gaining a wide knowledge of modern medical diagnostics. For example, with the PET scan, I was injected with radioactive sugar water. Then I was sent to a quiet, dimly lit room where I was to lie down and do nothing for an hour, not even read. Then off to the PET scanner. As a result of the test they discovered that many of the lymph nodes in my body have what is called hypermetabolic activity. That is, they're working on overtime.

What's this all means is that there may be cancer cells in other parts of my body. So off to a second biopsy, this time from my neck. Just before the first biopsy I had developed a small lump in my neck, underneath my right jaw. Since this showed the greatest activity, this was the target. I arrived on Thursday as scheduled to find the the surgeon's office had changed my surgery to Friday and neglected to call me. Not too much of a problem (we all make mistakes) except for the fact that Olivia had dropped me off and was not to return for 3 hours! Ah well, I sent her a message and went off to find breakfast. It all turned out all right, as she got the message so I didn't need to wait for the full 3 hours and I had more time to contemplate this situation.

(Contemplative aside: I seem to remember a quote from somewhere that goes something like this - 'Nothing focuses a man's thinking like the knowledge that he is to be hung in the morning.' Although follicular lymphoma [or even lymphoma in its more aggressive states] is not a death sentence, the idea that my time is more limited than I had imagined is sobering. After I passed 50 I began wondering how many years I had left and, given my general health and actuary tables, I figured on about 30 years, easily, barring lightning strikes or carelessness on my part. Then to visit webpages after my diagnosis that said, depending on the particulars of my case, I have a 50 to 70 percent chance of living 7 to 10 more years, well, focused my thinking fairly quickly. Now, they did add the disclaimer that each case is individual and some people have passed 25 years with no problems. Still, it caused my to take a step back and "consider the lilies of the field." Right now, except for the fatigue that still plagues me, my life is no different except for a greater recognition of how ephemeral life is. This has in many ways enhanced my quality of life. I look at family and friends with a rediscovered joy in just their presence in my life. I have a greater trust that the future, although uncertain, will take care of its self. I do have rough spots, where I just want to cry, "Why me?," but for the most part I've been able to take this as it comes.)

So, I returned on the morrow to go through the surgery. It went well, all things considered. There was some nerve damage in my face, which means when I try to make my mouth look like this :-0 it looks more like this :-b, but the doctor said that may pass. Thus we are back to the "wait and see" game. It will be about a week before the results of the biopsy are back, which should tell us either that I have a more aggressive form of cancer and chemo will take care of it or that I have an indolent form of cancer, which we will just watch, but we still don't know why I'm sick. In the meanwhile, I would like to again thank all of you who are holding Olivia and me in your prayers and thoughts. I truly feel blessed and appreciate all of the kind words you have sent our way.

Blessings on you all.

So, How Was Your Biopsy?

2010-07-16T11:52:00.000-07:00

(Editor's note: Due to the results of the biopsy and the uncertainty regarding the implications for the future, I've held off on posting for awhile. Although some things are still up in the air (more on that in a later post), they have settled out somewhat, so I should be posting again more regularly.)

Well, first off, thank you to my friend, G., for driving me to the appointment in the morning (timeline check: this was on Thursday, July 8th). Olivia had an engagement that morning so we arranged for her to come by later to pick me up. I had a 9 o'clock appointment and they told me that there would be an hour of prep beforehand, about 15 minutes of actual process and then about an hour afterwards recovering as the drugs worked their way out of my body. We arrived a half hour early and luckily they took me in immediately. First, they had me change into a standard hospital gown, lay down on a gurney and then they connected me to all sorts of recording devices: blood pressure, pulse and a hook up for an IV. Then I lay there for almost 2 hours. Not a lot to do but wait. Luckily, I had my iPod with me for music and reading. The biopsy itself was very interesting. The drugs they gave me were a mix for anti-anxiety and amnesia so I was still somewhat awake. Something like the state you're in between waking and sleeping when you're sort of aware of what is going on around you but you really don't care. From what I remember, there wasn't much discomfort (unlike when they extracted the bone marrow). There was just a sense of something's going on back there but it didn't feel normal. I was lying face down on the CAT scan table and they would slide me into the CAT scan to triangulate and then out so they could proceed. After they finished I was rolled back to the same room I started in and waited for the drugs to wear off. The most exciting part of the whole process was the trip to and from the scanning room. Due to construction in their office I was wheeled around as if it was Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disneyland. First we rolled to the front office to drop off the nurse's purse, then around quick corners and down narrow hallways as people opened and closed doors, just missing my gurney.

In the end, the timing was perfect. Olivia showed up just when I was ready to be released and so home we went. Then, as before, came the wonderful time of WAITING FOR THE RESULTS. Unfortunately, real life is not like an episode of House. The head doctor doesn't snap off a witty remark, then bark "Test him for _______!" and violà!, they are sitting next to the patient's bed explaining what they found. And so, I'll will leave you as we were left, waiting for the results until the next posting.

Blessings on you all.

Good Drugs?

2010-07-07T22:11:00.000-07:00

(Editor's note: Before any of you read this and think that this illness has gone to my head, [which it has, slightly. I'm finding it difficult to hold conversations for more that fifteen minutes or so before drooping] I need to explain the post below. I recently replaced my ipod touch and as a result was able to begin using what I thought was my dream app: Dragon Dictation. Yes, through the wonders of modern technology, I would never have to struggle with my two-fingered-hunt-and-peck method of data entry again! I had tried it out with short phrases and was amazed at how accurate it was. So this morning I sat down, miracle device in hand, and set about SPEAKING my post about my biopsy, planning to cut and paste it later. Well, this is the result. I knew I would have to clean up a few errors, but even I don't know or remember what I was trying to say for most of this. Now, I know I was coherent when I dictated it [although I did restart a sentence or two], but, come on! This sounds like I dictated it immediately post-procedure rather than the day before. This is up there with David After the Dentist [if you haven't seen that youtube, go here right now and watch: http://davidafterdentist.com/. Don't worry, I'll wait.] So, with humor in my heart, I give you the unedited version of my thoughts about the biopsy, co-written with Dragon Dictation.)

(p.s. My younger sister is going in for a biopsy tomorrow as well. Please keep her in your prayers and thoughts as well. Peace and blessings to you all.)

My time being ill has left with me a lot of time to think. For one thing, it's really interesting to talk matter-of-factly like this: “If I do have cancer then we’ll have to think about this, if I don't have cancer, then we’ll have to make these decisions.” when I was testing for test and to even contemplate that but then to realize that that would be a dramatic life changing events it's completely out of my control stuff and I can choose it's chosen for me not knowing exactly what that would entail lengthy hospital stay him chemotherapy, radiation therapy, I know most of us know people that come through cancer treatment. Many of who have become cancer survivors so what does that mean for me. Where's that we've been am I still haven't heard back about the two fever or lupus panel me because the doctor this morning about that and if everything goes as it normally does for be a while before they get back to him I think I had to have the biopsy tomorrow night. At least that's what I go into some even older doing sticking me let me pulling out material to look at the trail calling out some of me to look at it is a fairly involved process after have to show up in our early customers that IBM start of the dating me how the quality of conscious sedation so it seems quite versatile I'll be awake but I don't really care what's going on him and then about 20 or 30 minutes for the procedure itself then another hour afterwards where they monitor me to make sure they have a fundamentally internally and in the back, because alright, so in a minute to process again. I'm having always technology front of me trying to discover why are you still tired and because the peepers can't really get some aches and pains my abdomen than an enlarged Lanna my throat my neck my job he gets all the they really have it say with the fatigue I keep thinking maybe I'm just now mentioned that accurately down for an hour or two maybe it's not really am leaving this being lazy but then am I actually go out next week I do something present close to a meeting yesterday at the school I'll talk and I found after about 1520 minutes I really had no interest in 15 minutes I was done I was ready to lay down and wanted to.

Plodding Along

2010-07-04T14:21:00.000-07:00

So today I'm just tired. Last night wasn't too bad, just awake for a short while around 2 am with some aches and pains (Shhh! Don't tell Olivia. I don't want her to worry unnecessarily). It's strange, waiting to hear if I have something major or something that will go away on its own. Fever with enlarged lymphs and no other symptoms is apparently indicative of just about anything and the only way to find out what it is is to find out what it isn't.

Funny thing is, that's what I've always said is a good way to find out what you want to do in life: try out things as they come along and you'll know what you want by eliminating that which you don't. That's why my resume (if it were complete) would include pizza cook, gas station attendant, bus boy, maintenance man, dishwasher, soup cook, ice cream truck driver, telephone solicitor (only one day), ditch digger, transport driver, environmental educator, produce manager, grocery manager, lumber salesman, DIY educator, summer camp counselor, after care support, teacher, science educator, home school adult educator, puppeteer, juggling instructor, busker, space craft simulation instructor, IT support, and contra caller.

Do you get that I have a lot of time to sit around reflecting on my life when I'm not sleeping?

Blessings on you all (and don't forget you can leave comments below if you wish).

24 Hours and Counting

2010-07-03T09:32:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I got the news that they were ready to schedule my biopsy. Then, as usual, the questions started.

"Have you been taking any aspirin, Tylenol, etc.?"

" Nothing except what I was prescribed, Endocin."

"Hmm. That's not on my list. Let me get back to you."

Many minutes later the answer comes that I need to be off it for 5 days before the biopsy. Well, as far as we know, the Endocin is all that has been keeping the fevers, sleepless nights, and stabbing pains in my back at bay. But, as it has been going since the beginning of this journey, I take a breath, try my best to surrender to what is instead of longing for what isn't, and go on. So far, after one day, all is well.

So, on Thursday next, I go in for another session of drugs, needles, and high-tech scanning. There has been no word on the Lupus panel or Q Fever. Recently I just feel like I'm at the tail end of a cold (slightly achy, hard to think straight, low energy) plus some discomfort from groin to right side of my abdomen. Is this what cancer feels like? Or is this still FUO (Fever, Unknown Origin, which, according to Wikipedia, if there is no diagnosis after 6 months to a year[!!] looks to a good prognosis). I realized yesterday that I lost the month of June. Will July slip away as well? I often start trying to work on school stuff or things around the house, but if they project goes beyond 15 minutes or so I poop out. I've spent some time on the phone with tech support, trying to resolve some computer issues, and I get to the point where I tell them to call me back, I can't focus anymore. Am I just being lazy? Is it fair for me to lie around when so much needs to get done? (Rhetorical questions).

Well, that's where I am today. I've been considering if all this might indicate a need to shift the way I get things done, from a "Give me a couple of cups of coffee and stand back," to a "Let me plan everything out in small chunks and take it slowly," way of going forward. Planning and step by step has never been my long suit. Spontaneity has always served me well.

Again, I want to thank you all for your kind words, prayer, thoughts, and offers. May peace be with you all.

Hot Time, Summer in the City!

2010-06-28T20:40:00.000-07:00

As those of you who are following Olivia's missives already know, our air conditioner stopped working on Sunday. The temperature in the house quickly rose to over 90 degrees. This led to difficulty in sleeping for both of us, as it didn't cool down much last night. This morning, after determining that this wasn't the result of the program we had signed up for with our utility where they cycle our ac off during peak times in exchange for rebates, Olivia contacted the local ac repair company, who said we were near the top of the list. This apparently meant that we were near the top of a LONG list because they weren't able to get to us until 6pm. Still, it was an easy (and not too expensive) fix and now, 2 hours later, the temp is down to 86, from a high of 95.

An interesting side note: when the scheduler called to say the repairman was on his way, she asked if we minded if a local tv station came out as well to do a story on ac breakdowns. So, if you are in the Sacramento area, and tune in to channel 58/3 at 10/11 tonight, you may see me telling them that it's hot when the ac breaks down. Or you may see me with a foolish grin on my face as I try to remember the word "heat" through the fog of fever-held-at-bay-with-drugs and sitting in a 95 degree house all day. Or they may cut me altogether and only run the interview with the repairman.

On the health front, a nurse from the specialist's office called today, telling me to expect a call from another office, as the biopsy of my lymph glands is going forward. They have decided to go with the needle and cat scan method, as opposed to the knock me out and cut me open method (yay!). The specialist also wanted the name and phone number of the CDC person to talk to her about Q Fever. Otherwise no new news. Now that it is cooler, I'm actually feeling fairly well. I've been trying to get up and do more when I feel I can, but I still find that I bump into things or feel like I'm falling over if I try to move too quickly (that is, normal speed).

Blessings on all.

I've Become a Statistic!

2010-06-26T17:54:00.000-07:00

Friday afternoon I got what was probably the most unusual phone call of my life. A woman who identified herself as being with the Sacramento Center for Disease Control called and said based on test results from my stay in the hospital, she needed to ask me some follow up questions, the first being "Have you recently been around any pregnant or birthing goats?" HUH?!

It turns out one of the tests was positive for Q Fever (I have no idea if this is somehow related to the odd recurring character on Star Trek: The Next Generation). It is transmitted through contact with animals, especially pregnant ones (she also asked if any of our rabbits were pregnant). My first question for her was why was she telling me that a test came back positive but my doctor said everything was negative. Well, it turns out that these tests aren't like asking "Is this paper blank or does it have writing on it?" They are more like "When I need to do the dishes, there are often dishes scattered around the house where I left them. I'll check a couple of rooms and if I don't see any dishes, I probably don't need to do the dishes." That is, the tests are for signs of different symptoms that may (or may not) indicate various illnesses. Thus, she needed to follow up on a positive test for Q Fever, since it is required by law to be reported to the CDC, but the doctor had probably seen something else that ruled it out (but she said I should let him know that it would probably be a good idea to do a follow up test).

This method of testing also explains why that, although the blood marrow they extracted didn't show any signs of malignancy, they still want to do a biopsy of my lymph glands, with the current question being "Can we do it with a needle and cat scan as an out patient or do we need to go in surgically and extract the sample?" Yes, the fun just never stops.

The good news is, Q Fever is treatable (but may develop into a long term infection, still treatable, but a major disruption to one's life) and that this test (A simple blood draw on my part. Good lord, I'm starting to feel like I'm stuck in a teenage vampire movie. Last time I saw the doc he ordered another 12 vials drawn to check for Lupus) should be done before they go forward with the lymph biopsy. In addition, I had a good day so far today (in spite of the US being knocked out of the World Cup).

So, a little more on the inner side of this journey. Early on, during one of my 3:00 am wrestling with a fever sessions, I started asking, "What is the lesson in all this?" The answer that came (and continues to come) is "Let go, give in, surrender, all will become clear in the fullness of time." While I find it hard at times to follow this, there is not a lot else I can (or feel I need to) do. There is no diagnosis to rail against, no enemy to fight. I find myself surrounded by loving friends and family all praying and pulling for me. At last count I was being held in the prayers and thoughts of two Bible study groups, a Healing Touch group, a Native American Healing Circle, a Eucharist Community, and countless individuals. I've been prayed over, ministered to, chanted around, anointed, and sent some wonderful cards. Far from feeling despair that nothing has "worked," I feel joy and great gratitude at the outpouring of care and concern from you all. Kahlil Gibran once wrote that "Sorrow carves the cup that holds our joy." I have come to see something of the same in that illness clears our eyes of the ordinariness of life. When in the hospital I was moved to tears by the sight on a screen of my heart beating in real time. I was struck how God had formed and placed one of these in each of us and set it the task to selflessly beat day and night to give us the gift of life. And what was more, at least from the angle that I was looking at, the valves, opening and closing together in rhythm, seemed to be a bird or butterfly constantly in flight in my chest.

Enough said for now. Please feel free to leave comments below. On a more practical note, my email is currently broken, so if you have written to me recently I may not have received it or, at least, am unable to reply. This should be cleared up on Monday. Also, if you follow rss feeds, there should be a tag somewhere on this page (maybe in the address bar?) where you can subscribe to this blog and it will let you know when I've posted something new. Finally, you may not have notices, but the video posts below are three years old. That is NOT what I'm doing at home right now.

The Story So Far

2010-06-25T00:16:00.000-07:00

Today it is 5 weeks since this all began. Started with a sore throat for three days then fever up to 103/104. After four days of that we went to ER. They ruled out strep and mono. Saw my regular doc two days later (Memorial day got in the way). She recommended a chest x-ray. That came back with a "possible nodule, cat scan recommended." All along fever still came and went. By now we're up to week 3. Doc says go see a pulmonary/infectious disease specialist. Specialist says go into hospital for lots of tests, easier than scheduling as outpatient. There for 4 days as they draw lots o' blood, cat scan, audiogram of heart, sonogram of abdomen, more blood, fever continues, finally bone marrow extraction. Sent home with 24 hour a day fever meds and "see you in a week." So far they have ruled out HIV, one form of cancer (still not sure if that is a total negative), Lyme's disease, bug bite, West Nile, Valley Fever, Epstein-Barr and many fungi. Most of the ruling out of various diseases is through, "No, if you had that you'd be really sick!" (other symptoms). Today I saw the specialist again. The fever returned yesterday (even with the meds, although I slept through one dosage two days ago). Now, with fever meds I'm just tired all the time, wake up, eat breakfast, go back to bed, up for lunch, watch some tv, back to bed, eat dinner. After seeing the Specialist today came home and slept from about 2 pm to 10 pm (thus the late night posting).

That's all for now. I'm going to try and post updates that include the inner process I'm going through as well as the physical. For now I would like to share one prayer/quote that I am working with. This comes from St. Paul of the Cross:

“Oh, what beautiful virtues can be practiced in sickness! Above all, love of humiliation, helplessness, gratitude and gentleness of heart towards those who take care of you, blind obedience to the doctor and the nurses. Keep your countenance cheerful and remain in bed as on the Cross of the Savior. Love to suffer those pains and fevers as the Lord sends them.”

Thanks to all of you who are holding us in your prayers and thoughts. Blessings upon you all.

Making a Magic Wand

2007-08-16T10:23:00.000-07:00

I recently found a great site called DadCanDo.com. Lots of fantastic projects. I was especially interested in the the one on making magic wands. I won't repeat the instructions here as they do a great job, but I thought you might like to see my results. To see their page just google "dadcando wand" and hit the "I'm feeling lucky" button. (note: if anyone's interested in the the effects [all done in iMovie], leave a comment and I'll do a post on that.)

iPod Mount for my Car

2007-08-10T12:27:00.000-07:00

I wanted to find a way to move my iPod off of my dash but still have easy access to the controls. Some plexiglas and a little ingenuity did the trick.

Solar Collector

2007-08-09T23:07:00.001-07:00

I've been playing around with solar collectors/cookers for a number of years now. I first got the idea from this page: http://amasci.com/amateur/mirror.html. I tried making one 2 feet on a side but could never get it to focus properly. Quite a while later I found this page: http://solarcooking.org/plans/funnel.htm
and successfully made a number of solar cookers with this design. I also tried making a paper mache hemisphere over an 18'' balloon lined with foil. It worked well but was difficult to point at anything due to its shape. I recently found an abandoned satellite dish on the side of the road. I took it home, threw it on my pile of "Projects To Get To Some Day," and started keeping and eye out for the mylar I knew I had stashed somewhere in the garage. In the meantime I came across this: http://www.cockeyed.com/incredible/solardish/dish01.shtm. Wow! That got me motivated to dig in the garage till I found the mylar. This is the result.