December 1, 1998

Once on the first of December I said I do. Then eight years later on a December first I learned a new word. It was December 1, 1998. We (my first wife and I) approached the Dr’s. office with a mixture of hope and dread. On the one hand we could not believe it could possibly happen to us, on the other we knew something was very wrong inside her body.

They had already told us there was a rather large spot on her left lung, but we were hoping it was a mucus plug, a benign anything, or some crazy artifact; we longed to hear words of comfort and have the good Dr. smile and say we had nothing to worry about. Instead he was about as serious as any human I have ever encountered.

He sat down and said, “The biopsy has returned. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. Turning to Lena he said, “You have an adenocarcinoma.” It was both a clinical term and a statement of finality. At some level I had already accepted the fact that Lena would die, as a large spot on the lung spells big trouble. But I could not comprehend that this horrible adeno… whatever was now our reality.

I was at a loss for words. Lena asked in a very weak voice, “Is that like lymphoma?” naming what was probably the only technical name for cancer that she knew. Dr. E. sadly shook his head and said, “If only it was.” Then I knew that my worst fears would come true. Dr. E. was telling us, barring a miracle, this was the beginning of the end. He promised to put us in touch with an Oncologist and ushered us to the door. The whole thing took about 15 minutes.

We were stunned, numb, confused, scared, and trying to act normal in front of all the people in the waiting area. We still had to pay and fill out some papers. As we stood in line trying to act Ok, Lena said she didn’t feel very well, and suddenly began to collapse. I managed to get her to a chair and get someone to help as she lost consciousness. I have no idea what happened to the paperwork. And with that, the blur of what went on to become December 1998 began.

So on that December 1, I learned a new word, a deadly word: adenocarcinoma. It wasn’t clinical to me. It was personal! This word referred to my loved one.

On this December 1, I think back to that one. And I vow to learn, and use, other kinds of words; words that words that lift up my wife and family, words that communicate life and love, words that express appreciation and support, words that bring joy and laughter, words that inspire hope and desire, words that, as the scriptures teach us, are like honey.

While adneocarcinoma was thrust uninvited into my life, these other words are mine to go after, mine to share, mine to learn and use.

Grant this O Lord.
Peace,
Leon

The Saturday Morning Date

This past Saturday morning my wife and I had a rare opportunity to go on a date. Just what do you do on a Saturday morning date? What romantic interest can you share in a few stolen hours together? Well the answer to that just may depend on whether or not your wife is a nurse.

Being married to a nurse can be a trip. We may all be sitting around together at dinner when she begins to describe some wound she saw that day in graphic detail. TIME OUT! Way too much detail! Please dial it back a bit. She looks across the table and grins innocently like she just shared about the sunset while the rest of us look at our plates and suddenly realize we are no longer hungry.

So back to Saturday morning. My wife wanted to go see the exhibit of bodies preserved in various poses for all the world to see. It is called: Our Bodies. The Universe Within. You can look it up at http://www.whitakercenter.org/Bodies/index.asp. We would see twelve bodies in different sporting poses and various states of dissection, as well as, too numerous to count, body parts.

Well I was dubious. But, ever the loving husband, off we went. We arrived and Sue was getting more and more excited while I was becoming more convinced this would not be as romantic a getaway as say going out for a leisurely breakfast or a slow walk in a park.

I hoped it was not as bad as I imagined it was going to be. Sue was fascinated beyond belief. We looked at bodies (mostly without skin) with exposed gall bladders, livers, muscles, hearts, lungs, skeletons, brains and just about everything else. These bodies were laid open in every way imaginable. I saw inside body cavities that were just not meant to be shared with others. There were spinal cords, nerves bundles, muscles, and vertebrae all over the place. The nurse part of our family could not have been more pleased (unless perhaps I had totally shared her fascination), but I was feeling more and more ready to be out of there.

While the science of dissection, and the state of preservation was amazing; here I was looking at someone’s mom or brother or daughter and seeing their insides. Try as I might, I simply could not think of these bodies as specimens. While Sue was in awe of the intricacies of the body, I was feeling guilty for examining someone’s insides when we hadn’t even been introduced yet. I imagined what might happen if we were there when the last trump sounded and they returned to life while someone was looking at their liver. Man that’s just not right!

As we neared the end of the exhibit I heaved a sigh of relief as I spied the gift shop. Sue asked me if she could go back for a while, which was fine by me. I just needed to get out of there. So while she went in for another round I escaped into the relative safety of a kid’s exhibit comparing the body to machines.

Next time we get the opportunity for a Saturday morning date, I think I might set the agenda.

Peace,

Leon