Years ago, I read that “cellardoor” was the most pleasing word in the English language. It actually is two words.
Earlier this month I entered Indiana University Hospital for six rounds of chemo. As we left, I told Joe that I still can’t fully comprehend that I have cancer. It has been almost four years since Dr. Bush leaned over his desk, holding a sheet of paper, and said “David, it looks like you have cancer.”
My oncologist told me once that there are many treatments for myeloma but he failed to tell me of all the side-affects. With the loss of smell and much of my taste, numbness of toes, fatigue, and loss of all body hair, I am trying accept that the doctors know a plan for getting me back into remission. Early next month, I will again enter the hospital for six more rounds of chemo. The following week after this treatment, I will experience fatigue and will not be able to draw for several days.
The sound of the word “cancer” brings so much pain. I can think of other words but will not waste the effort to list any. The other day, I was thinking about words and how just the sound of certain words changes my energy level. Words like: hope, assurance, and love are pleasing to hear. Maybe I should change what I have and call it “Cellar door.” I feel better already.
Thanks for your words of encouragement and be assured that I read every letter (email) and card. I probably will not be able to answer your kind words but thank you. Some days I have questions about my situation but without fail I stop my self pity and recognize that there is hope for a better day. I do know that I am serving a living God who loves me. Maybe some day, I can look back on these days and just be thankful for the support and love that was given to our family.
David Liverett
dliverett@comcast
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Remembering Charles W. Naylor
The t-shirt read: “I Have Chemo Brain, What’s Your Excuse?” The nurse was telling that as she pushed me in a wheelchair to see my primary oncologist, Dr. Abonour. I was trying to tell her about the last I was in this part of the hospital. Her comment regarding the t-shirt was her way of telling me that chemo will take away part of my memory.
Dr. Abonour said that I was on schedule with the treatment plan for myeloma. Early next month I will once again have six more rounds of chemo and be hospitalized for four days. After that, he will determine the next steps.
As for the chemo brain and the loss of memory, I can say with assurance that memory loss has occurred. I have been struggling with writing down my thoughts on divine healing. The simple old question keeps coming up. Why are some evil people healed and other “saints” suffer and die?
Recently Jeanie Harbron was telling me about her visits to see C. W. Naylor. When she was only six years old, Jeanie would bring flowers to this bedridden songwriter. Naylor penned some of the best known songs for the Church. “I Am the Lord’s,” “I Will Follow with Rejoicing,” and “More Like Jesus” are just a handful of his songs. Naylor prayed for complete healing several times but this miracle never happened. In 1908, while removing timber from a camp meeting tent, he was injured. A year later, a bus accident confined Naylor to bed for the rest of his forty-one years of life. Could it be that his suffering gave him the ability to focus on his music which helped others struggling with tough answers?
Jeanie reminded me of an event that took place at the 2003 camp meeting. I think it must have been in the fall of 2002 that Robert Reardon and I met at our local Taco Bell. He sketched out a possible plan on the back of a placemat to recreate a monument at Naylor’s grave site. When I called Jeanie about remembering her connection with Naylor, she told me of the unveiling of the monument in Maplewood Cemetery. She and Tom brought over the VCR version last night for Avis and me to see. Oddly, I remember only part of the event. Reardon talked to the crowd that gathered around for the unveiling of the seven-foot monument and told them I was the designer. The memory I still have was the meeting at Taco Bell and seeing the design that Reardon had drawn. I hope I kept his drawing.
Dr. Abonour said that I was on schedule with the treatment plan for myeloma. Early next month I will once again have six more rounds of chemo and be hospitalized for four days. After that, he will determine the next steps.
As for the chemo brain and the loss of memory, I can say with assurance that memory loss has occurred. I have been struggling with writing down my thoughts on divine healing. The simple old question keeps coming up. Why are some evil people healed and other “saints” suffer and die?
Recently Jeanie Harbron was telling me about her visits to see C. W. Naylor. When she was only six years old, Jeanie would bring flowers to this bedridden songwriter. Naylor penned some of the best known songs for the Church. “I Am the Lord’s,” “I Will Follow with Rejoicing,” and “More Like Jesus” are just a handful of his songs. Naylor prayed for complete healing several times but this miracle never happened. In 1908, while removing timber from a camp meeting tent, he was injured. A year later, a bus accident confined Naylor to bed for the rest of his forty-one years of life. Could it be that his suffering gave him the ability to focus on his music which helped others struggling with tough answers?
Jeanie reminded me of an event that took place at the 2003 camp meeting. I think it must have been in the fall of 2002 that Robert Reardon and I met at our local Taco Bell. He sketched out a possible plan on the back of a placemat to recreate a monument at Naylor’s grave site. When I called Jeanie about remembering her connection with Naylor, she told me of the unveiling of the monument in Maplewood Cemetery. She and Tom brought over the VCR version last night for Avis and me to see. Oddly, I remember only part of the event. Reardon talked to the crowd that gathered around for the unveiling of the seven-foot monument and told them I was the designer. The memory I still have was the meeting at Taco Bell and seeing the design that Reardon had drawn. I hope I kept his drawing.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
The Bull and Ladder
October 20, 2010
My Brother Edwin tells of a most stressful evening when he owned several head of Black Angus cows, including a bull named “Papa.”
“One of the menial tasks every fall was to fill the barn with bales of hay to feed the cattle through the winter. This particular year the hay farmer parked the trailer of hay inside the pasture area where the cattle were grazing, instead of outside the fence where he normally parked it. Since it was late in the afternoon, I could not unload the hay. After fastening six-foot boards around the trailer, I gathered any available heavy metal hardware to cover the steel angle at the trailer hitch. Included in this protection hardware was an aluminum extension ladder that had been folded to twelve feet in length. About bedtime I thought I would check the hay trailer. As I approached it, I heard a crashing sound on the backside of the pasture. I shined my flashlight and saw the bull we called “Papa” walking in my direction with his head through the middle section of the twelve-foot ladder. As I walked toward him, I could tell he was not a happy trooper. I reached down to see if I could hold the ladder and maybe he could slip his head from the ladder rungs. As I touched the end of the ladder, he swung his head causing the ladder to go whizzing in an arc, just barely missing me. I was beginning to wonder if it was possible to ever get the ladder off his head. I thought of calling the vet to see if he could shoot a dart of medication to temporarily subdue him so we could pull off the ladder. Suddenly, I remembered that I had a light at the barn. I filled the manger with hay and I started calling for Papa to come for the hay. At first there was silence, then I could hear the crashing sound, and then I could hear him picking up speed heading straight for the barn. I had a sinking feeling. Papa and the twelve-foot ladder were heading full speed toward a ten-foot opening. The 1,500-pound bull came through the opening with so much force that the ladder bowed as if it had been a paper clip.”
The message of the story for me could be:
When I’m faced with a surprise barrier that attempts to stop me from achieving the best choice for my life, God will help me reach the goal.
Today, Avis and I will meet with my oncologist and hopefully get some answers to his plan for me to get back into remission. I am trusting his plan but know God is planning the best route for me. I just need to break any negative barrier that tries to stop me from achieving the goal.
My Brother Edwin tells of a most stressful evening when he owned several head of Black Angus cows, including a bull named “Papa.”
“One of the menial tasks every fall was to fill the barn with bales of hay to feed the cattle through the winter. This particular year the hay farmer parked the trailer of hay inside the pasture area where the cattle were grazing, instead of outside the fence where he normally parked it. Since it was late in the afternoon, I could not unload the hay. After fastening six-foot boards around the trailer, I gathered any available heavy metal hardware to cover the steel angle at the trailer hitch. Included in this protection hardware was an aluminum extension ladder that had been folded to twelve feet in length. About bedtime I thought I would check the hay trailer. As I approached it, I heard a crashing sound on the backside of the pasture. I shined my flashlight and saw the bull we called “Papa” walking in my direction with his head through the middle section of the twelve-foot ladder. As I walked toward him, I could tell he was not a happy trooper. I reached down to see if I could hold the ladder and maybe he could slip his head from the ladder rungs. As I touched the end of the ladder, he swung his head causing the ladder to go whizzing in an arc, just barely missing me. I was beginning to wonder if it was possible to ever get the ladder off his head. I thought of calling the vet to see if he could shoot a dart of medication to temporarily subdue him so we could pull off the ladder. Suddenly, I remembered that I had a light at the barn. I filled the manger with hay and I started calling for Papa to come for the hay. At first there was silence, then I could hear the crashing sound, and then I could hear him picking up speed heading straight for the barn. I had a sinking feeling. Papa and the twelve-foot ladder were heading full speed toward a ten-foot opening. The 1,500-pound bull came through the opening with so much force that the ladder bowed as if it had been a paper clip.”
The message of the story for me could be:
When I’m faced with a surprise barrier that attempts to stop me from achieving the best choice for my life, God will help me reach the goal.
Today, Avis and I will meet with my oncologist and hopefully get some answers to his plan for me to get back into remission. I am trusting his plan but know God is planning the best route for me. I just need to break any negative barrier that tries to stop me from achieving the goal.
Monday, October 18, 2010
The Pressure
“Wait a moment until I get to my happy place!” The nurse, holding the armband to get my blood pressure, was taken aback. This special place is at Two Lights, Maine. I remember sitting at the base of the famous Cape Elizabeth lighthouse while the east sun illumined my face with its warmth. The sight and sounds also include the surf crashing on the rocky shore and the clattering noise of gulls following the lobstermen out of Casco Bay. It only takes me about five seconds to recreate the image before the sound of Velcro breaks into my concentration.
I think of the life-changing pressure when other victims of myeloma are told that this is a cancer that is not curable but treatable. Most of the time the treatment is very hard on the patient and the caregivers. I do know that I would be in some assisted living facility if I didn't have Avis keeping track of my medicines and doctors' appointments. Thank goodness for those five words, “in sickness and in health.”
I remember being in the hospital earlier this year when a psychologist came to my room and after some light conversation, she asked if I was depressed. After that conversation, I have thought about that but try not to dwell on it. Avis tells me that my personality has changed over the last three years. I know I don't have the patience I used to have. At other times I start crying at the slightest provocation. It may start with a thought or just a certain word I hear.
This morning (October 18, 2010), I will have labs drawn to determine if the medicine has been working. Last Thursday my white count was 0.2, so I must be careful not to come in contact with common germs or I will need to be taken back to the ER. I will be spending four more days in the hospital as part of my oncologist's plan, starting November 3. I would like to make a trip to South Bend on October 28 to help celebrate my grandson Connor's eleventh birthday. Staying away from crowds and wearing a mask will be necessary but my doctor will make the final decision.
So the pressure is on everyday for all fighting this disease. Some have people praying for them and I know so many who are encouraging me. I am overwhelmed by the love expressed to me and to Avis. I still hold on to the realization that God loves me and has a plan for my life.
I think of the life-changing pressure when other victims of myeloma are told that this is a cancer that is not curable but treatable. Most of the time the treatment is very hard on the patient and the caregivers. I do know that I would be in some assisted living facility if I didn't have Avis keeping track of my medicines and doctors' appointments. Thank goodness for those five words, “in sickness and in health.”
I remember being in the hospital earlier this year when a psychologist came to my room and after some light conversation, she asked if I was depressed. After that conversation, I have thought about that but try not to dwell on it. Avis tells me that my personality has changed over the last three years. I know I don't have the patience I used to have. At other times I start crying at the slightest provocation. It may start with a thought or just a certain word I hear.
This morning (October 18, 2010), I will have labs drawn to determine if the medicine has been working. Last Thursday my white count was 0.2, so I must be careful not to come in contact with common germs or I will need to be taken back to the ER. I will be spending four more days in the hospital as part of my oncologist's plan, starting November 3. I would like to make a trip to South Bend on October 28 to help celebrate my grandson Connor's eleventh birthday. Staying away from crowds and wearing a mask will be necessary but my doctor will make the final decision.
So the pressure is on everyday for all fighting this disease. Some have people praying for them and I know so many who are encouraging me. I am overwhelmed by the love expressed to me and to Avis. I still hold on to the realization that God loves me and has a plan for my life.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
No Pearly Gates or Golden Streets for Me
Last night (September 29, 2010) Avis and I returned from two reunions in Alabama. Five years ago my brother and I were in route to one of the family reunions and out of the blue Edwin started talking about heaven. This was about a month before he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He believed that heaven was a certain place. I have given his ideas much thought and although it isn’t an original idea, my thinking has take a different direction. I really don’t believe that there will be golden streets. I believe God will have a different way of communication. A kind of super-spiritual awareness that is way beyond my imagination. I do believe that I wll have the knowledge to recognize family, friends, and the Almighty.
An “Angel” at My Door
An “angel” appeared at my hospital door today (October 8, 2010). I was having a four day stay with six rounds of chemo at the Indiana University Hospital in Indianapolis. I was trying to keep my spirits up while poison was pumping into my body. The sound of a small knock came from my door and a face appeared and asked if I liked music. “Oh yes!” I said. At first I didn’t see that she was carrying an instrument. I was thinking that she was bringing me CDs. She made her way to the guest chair with a Casio keyboard. She asked what type of music I prefered. After hearing some titles, we settled on Simon & Garfunkel’s, “Bridge Over Trouble Water.” Also music from Chicago, and others. When she started singing, all my troubles seem to drift away. She ended with “How Great Thou Art.” For those thirty minutes, my spirit was lifted to a new level.
Thank you Shu-ting Yang.
PS On November 3, I will begin the same treatment. I sure hope Shu-ting will show up again.
Thank you Shu-ting Yang.
PS On November 3, I will begin the same treatment. I sure hope Shu-ting will show up again.
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