Cancer/writing Journal #99

 My PSA was checked this last week and again, it was too low to be detectable.  I also had an appointment with my Oncologist.  I had not seen him in well over a year.  It has been an Oncology PA that I have seen.  He has lost some freshness of face since the last time I say him.  Too bad.  I suppose seeing cancer patients all day long will do that to you.   

I saw him rather than the PA, I believe, because I had raised the issue of going off my testosterone blocker and they brought in the big gun to respond to that.  He said that a study published in 2021 showed that intermittent use of the drug resulted in less successful (as in death) results than continuous use.  I will stay on it.  Although my hot flashes are more frequent and more severe and testosterone is otherwise better than no testosterone, still, the quality of my life remains good.  No reason to boost the risk.

I ask him how I am doing compared with others similarly situated.  Foolish question I suppose.  He told me that I was "above average".  I am like the children of Lake Wobegon in that respect.  I suppose it makes sense for him to be measured in his enthusiasm.  Too much of a cheerleader and then things go south and he hears, "You told me..."  Don't want that.

I also had my writing group this last week.  I wrote a piece that was less successful than some of my others, I think.  For one thing, it did not have the benefit of brevity.  I had to reduce the font size to get it all on two pages.  Anyway,  here it is:

                                      Dripping together in the Infusion Room  

As a treatment for prostate cancer, I have Vitamin C infused into my bloodstream every three weeks or so. It falls into the general category of alternative medicine although there is test evidence of its effectiveness in treating cancer, particularly hormonal varieties such as prostate or breast cancer. The treatment is administered at a functional medicine clinic where a number of patients are gathered in a treatment room for cancer and other ailments as well. I get 100 grams delivered from a bag into a line running into a blood vein. It takes over three hours, enough time to get to know others in the room. Often other patients are immersed in their smartphone or book. When they aren’t and there is conversation, anything can happen.


A while back, there was a prosperous woman, Dawn, who loves reporting on the travails of her life. Men are capable of astonishingly bad behavior. I am not sure this woman’s ex-husband committed all the over-the-top evil that she reports, but maybe. Lie? Oh, does that man lie! As I say, there are bad guys out there and I can see Dawn bringing out the worst.


Also in the room was an Amish woman dressed in standard modest clothing, head covered with a white organdy cap. Her husband waiting outside the room, at least to start, dressed in Amish tailored simplicity. A black felt hat with a flat brim, effective for keeping the sun out of his eyes. A full bushy beard which is no longer unique to the Amish.


I am familiar with Dawn’s domestic troubles from prior times that we have “dripped together” as she calls it. She is referring to release of fluid from the bag into the infusion tube. Now she has plans to move to Montana with her daughter which seems like a good idea to me. Get more than a thousand miles from that jerk. If there were justice in the world, he would not have gotten nearly as much marital property as he ended up with in the divorce. Still, it sounds as though she will have plenty to live on once she makes the move.


I draw the Amish woman into the conversation which creates a change in trajectory from what is going on with Dawn. She has breast cancer for which she is receiving Vitamin C therapy. She has 10 children at home, which I find astonishing. It is hard to make any assessment of what that has done to her body but she does not appear to be older than her mid-thirties. Start early and have them thick and fast, I guess. No beauty, but the freshest peaches and cream complexion I have ever seen. It might be that having 10 babies early in life is just very good for your complexion. She lives an hour away from where the clinic is. I don’t ask how she got here. I saw no horse and buggy in the parking lot. Some people make a living driving Amish to where they need to go. Probably it was something like that. Her husband’s presence with her meant his day was shot, as far as getting farm work done. Maybe some of the children could help cover that.


She confesses to having a hard time not eating sweets, which I tell her she should watch. People have known for 100 years that sugar feeds cancer. We also speak of how an intermittent fast, maybe one day a week, helps the body do maintenance on itself and equips it to handle the cancer better. She says that would be hard for her since a good share of her day is spent preparing food for the family. I say that once you get rolling with it and your body expects it, it is surprisingly easy. Dawn says that the same has been true for her.


I am a Charismatic Christian. You could be with me for quite a while and not have any inkling of that. I do not say that to my credit. One thing that I do do somewhat regularly though is to ask people if I can pray with them, especially in the clinic infusion room where people are there because of illness. Never have I been told, “No, you can’t pray with me,” although some are perhaps startled by what they have agreed to. I pray out loud, in full voice. Totally aside from how an almighty God will respond to my beseeching, I think that prayer spoken out in company such as this pulls us together, expresses empathetic concern for what the other one is going through, sends the message that all we sick ones are not on our own, that we all support each other, carry each others’ burdens.


I ask the Amish woman if I can pray for her health. Her assent is quiet, surely a complicated matter for her to have a gentile encroaching into her own God-centered community with its own ways of praying and its own notions of what is appropriate to be asking God for. I bull my way into that, making a lot of noise which she very possibly is not used to. I could pray in tongues but don’t, prudent fellow that I am. Words do flow out of me in a way more articulate and unobstructed than my general conversation. I hardly remember what I said but I do recall saying that she didn’t have time for cancer which surely is true. Dinners for a family of 12 don’t cook themselves.


The husband approaches the room, no doubt hearing his wife’s voice, at first around the entryway and then coming on in the room. A pleasant rather than handsome face; wholehearted and dependable. As Dawn talks to the woman, he and I talk about his farming operation. I say that I assume that he does not use Round-up and he agrees that he does not. I ask him how he controls the weeds. He says that there is a lot of tilling and also that if you plant the corn later in the year when the soil has had a chance to warm more, the corn will shoot up in a hurry, overwhelming the weeds. The fields are fertilized with cow manure. He does say that his yield is not what a conventional farmer would get.


His farm is essentially organic, although he has not gone through the extensive process of obtaining organic certification. There must be the Amish category, creating a sort of parallel to organic certification. He says he has records he has to keep. His pronunciation for this is funny, the word record used as a verb, with the accent not on the second syllable but on the first just as the word record would be spoken, used as a noun. I assume that that’s just the way the Amish say it, at least around here. I like it.


I catch the wife gazing at me, the wisp of an Amish crush? Oops. That is no good. The prayer with its expression of concern slops into tender feelings perhaps. This startles and discomforts me. Maybe she just finds me a strange specimen, warranting further examination.


My infusion bag empties. Clinic staff remove the needle from my arm, check my blood pressure and let me go. I wish Dawn well in Montana. She says that she will be back for treatment every six months or so and maybe we will drip together again. I would welcome that, I guess. There is low grade entertainment in hearing about the terrible things that man has done, whether true or not. I tell the Amish people that I hope things go well with both the cancer and the crops for the upcoming growing season.


Although all of this happened several months back, I have seen none of them since. Wouldn’t it be a fine thing if the Lord has washed that cancer right out of the woman’s body? I expect it would mess with Amish theology though, God hearing the prayer of a gentile in colorful clothing.