Meanwhile, I also received a referral to a new nutritionist who specializes in cancer, and started back to work with a new psychotherapist as well. I've gained 21 lbs as a cancer patient, and (even more annoying) my neck size has increased by 4 inches, mostly (my Doc thinks) because of the steroids I've been taking to help with the pain in my spine. I wasn't a skinny guy to begin with, but all the advice I was given in cancer class tended to be the same: chemo is going to make you nauseous and wipe out your appetite, so keep comfort foods on hand and eat as much as you can, so that you don't just waste away like...well, like a cancer patient on chemo. Anyway, that was all the encouragement I needed...but now the chemo is over (at least for the time being), and I really need to start working with someone who knows what they are talking about when it comes to balancing living with cancer with sensible nutrition and a reasonable weight loss plan. Plus, it lets me feel like I'm still doing something pro-active to fight my disease, rather than just sitting around watching and waiting for it to make the next move. The psychotherapy is obviously a lot more personal, but mostly has to do with issues of anticipatory grief as I work out some of the larger ramifications of this illness -- especially if and when things stop going as well as they have so far.
Just feeling well enough to be back in the pulpit though has been a big morale booster. Didn't climb all the way into the High Pulpit this past week, simply because so many people told me it made them nervous or uncomfortable to see me "struggle" up those stairs. Personally though, I like it up there -- I feel much more comfortable preaching from my new stool instead of sitting in the wheelchair, plus the view is a lot better: both my view of the congregation, and their view of me. In any event, I have this next Sunday off, and then will be preaching the following two Sundays in a row, so I may preach on Columbus Day from my stool down on the lower chancel (just to see what THAT looks and feels like), and then climb back into the pulpit again for the sermon on October 19th.
Last Sunday's sermon was about Banned Books Week; had a small congregation because of the rainstorm, but spirits were still good despite the bad weather, and folks seemed to enjoy my message. Because of the narcotics I'm taking for pain control, my emotions always seem very close to the surface these days, and it doesn't take much to choke me up. I've pretty much gotten over feeling embarrassed by that (or at least have accepted that it's going to happen and that there's not much I can do about it); still, it's hard to feel comfortable with the loss of control, or the feeling that I'm just not at 100% the way I should be. The congregation tends to interpret it as a sign of my authenticity and sincere engagement...which I suppose is also true, and comforting in it's own way. I just hope that given a little more practice, I'll be able to preach a sincere and authentic sermon without reaching for the tissues half-a-dozen times.
Last big subject on my mind this past week has had to do with the health and future of The Adorable Parker, my faithful companion animal of 13 years, who is literally on her last legs and counting on me to do the right thing. But anything I can think of to say about this situation simply sounds like a cliche; I just keep telling myself that she'll tell me when the time is right, and try to balance my own selfish desire to have as much time with her as possible with my equally selfish desire NOT to have to witness her inevitable (and unavoidable) decline. I know that her days are numbered, and are starting to feel like an ordeal to her, but I also know that she is still capable of experiencing joy and pleasure, and that she will try to do anything I ask her to, even at the price of intense physical pain. And I guess my biggest concern is that I will wait too long. I want her last day to be one of her best days, and not just long-overdue relief from a discomfort that should have ended long ago....
My favorite prayer (at least these days): "Dear God -- Please help me to become the kind of person my dog thinks I am...."
4 comments:
Tim...YOU ARE!!!
the eyes of love are those of parker dog. she thrives on your company and i do believe you will know when the time is right. as long as you are healing presences to one another, helping one another in all of life's vicissitudes, the literal ups and downs of "a dog's life"...you will be living the true love of the gospel with one another. your midweek update is good news to all of us who do not want to worry you with the interruptions of phone calls, but for those of us who do not get to hear your voice from the pulpit or on the phone, your blog is a touchstone. know that you are prayed for and thought of every day. hope your energy is good and the psychotherapy and the nutritional guidance builds up all aspects of your renewal of selfhood and good spirits. liza
Tim
Little "Monkey Business" Parker is a true doll baby. The wonderful relationship you have had with her will continue to enhance your ministry forever. You and Parker are both very special "critters" and I love you both very much. Dad
When my cat, Peppercorn, was 16, I had to make that decision. It was very hard. The last week of his life was incredibly difficult and painful for him. And, he also kept looking to me to do the right thing.
Interestingly, when I drove him to the vet (to do the "right" thing), he didn't cry once. Normally, he would make a big fuss when he was in the cat carrier. But not this time. It was as if he knew what was about to happen and through his bravery he was telling me that everything was going to be okay.
Lisa
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