Chemo 4.0

So the 4th round of chemotherapy is all but over.

This round was a lot tougher than previous rounds, it took a lot more out of me, and took longer to recover. The cumulative nature of the constant bombardment means that this is to be expected. However, the reality of living with it is a lot less fun that just talking about it.

This time the nausea stepped up a notch, and tiredness did the same. Interestingly the diarhoea did the opposite. Hair continues to fall out, the lining of my mouth continues to ulcerate, and my patience with it all runs a little thinner.

Today marked the first day back at work again, which I managed okay with, and tomorrow will be even better. I’m going to enjoy my 9 days of sanity before the next round of chemo hits .

So that was chemo round 4.0, ’till next time…..

Full Moon – Collabor:8

This shot is simple, yet I like it because it makes the moon seem so more accessible, so much more touchable that it usually does. This picture can easily be found with any google image search, but what I like here is the fact that I took this one. The moon went from being a distant object in the sky, to this amazing orb of texture, contrast and detail. And all achieved with a 250mm Lens .
I found it amazing just how much detail can be seen seen with the smallest bit of magnification when compared to the naked eye. It makes you wonder how much other detail in life we miss if only we took the time to examine just a little bit closer.
Shutter: 1/50 f/14 ISO 100, focal length 250mm.

Posted via email from Collabor:8 Project

I Just Want Normality.

Currently my life is cyclical. It fluctuates in a 2-weekly pattern between well and unwell, between normality and nausea. In the well times, it is easy to pretend there is nothing wrong. It’s easy to pretend that life continues as normal, with power bills, rent and cooking. And then, just as normality feels as though it might last forever, it comes crashing to the ground with more chemo.

Chemo is a two weekly ordeal for me this time round. It is the punctuation mark at the end of the normal week, just to serve emphasis that normality is not a given, but a priviledge. Its fortnightly cycle comes around too soon to make you forget. But that is exactly what I wish I could do…. forget.

I want to forget that I have cancer. I want to forget that death is running me down faster than it should be. I want to forget that I will be putting friends, family and Hannah through so much heartache. I want to forget that whatever suffering that this world serves up is an indiscriminate force that choses no one in particular, but is as arbitrary as the direction of the wind.

And then I feel well again, beginning to feel like what life used be like for me. Pretending that normality is the way my life is going, that I am well, that Hannah and I will have family.

… Shattered by the next round of chemo….

Cyclical.

The flip side of this desire for normality is of course, once we have it, we are never satisfied with it. Humans want more than normality. For me normality has become a commodity that is in rare supply, for most of you reading this, normality is the beige that keeps life from being one of extra-ordinary significance.

I covet normality, but normality just puts me with the masses. No more different that the next person.

This is what makes me want to strive for more than normality. Yes, I want the comfort that normality provides, but my circumstances are such that I will never have that. And so I strive for something bigger, something greater.

I strive for a life of significance.

Significance reaches out beyond our normality, it reaches beyond our suffering, and it makes a difference in the world. Significance is embracing the fact that each of us have the capability to change the world, regardless of our brokenness. Changing the world doesnt have to be on the scale of Ghandi or Nelson Mandella…. but it might be.

Changing the world is stepping outside of ourselves to reach out to those around us, to other people living normality. It demonstrates that life is something to be celebrated, and not a chore. It shows that brokenness is in fact a vessel to wholeness, its demonstrating that Christ’s love goes greater than any of our misgivings, any of our insecurities and to the core of who we are, redeeming us to something extra-ordinary, something significant.

I want normality in my life, because it is scarce. But I know normality is a pipe dream.

What I crave more than normality is significance, something that reaches beyond normalness and into the lives and hearts of those around me. I want the world to be a better place because I was here….. even if it is fleeting. I want the world to know that God’s plans are bigger than any we could ever concieve of for ourselves.

Bigger than normality.

…And then I have more chemo…

Thanks for Listening.

*NB The Gingerbread men were made by the lovely Jill Andrews.

Oncology Update 3.0

I got the results from last week’s CT scan on Wednesday. Basically the news is sorta good, sorta bad. Which I guess on balance makes it somewhere in the neutral ground in between.

Essentially, the scan showed that some of the nodes that had been getting bigger are now getting smaller!.. thats the good part. However, the scan also showed that the biggest node in the previous scan has actually still increased in size, with another node remaining static.

This basically all means that I’m getting some response to chemo, but not a complete response. It also should be taken with a slight grain of salt in that I have only had 3 rounds of chemo in my system at the time of the scan, which is really just the tip of chemo iceberg that I will get overall.

The conclusion the oncologist made is ’stable’ disease, i.e. it is not progressing, it is not regressing. However, it doesn’t matter how much the cancer responds, its the one bit that doesn’t respond that will kill me.

Let’s hope it begins to respond….

Surfing at Tawharanui – Collabor:8

On Saturday, we went up to the Matakana markets, followed by time at a beach at Tawharanui Regional Park, and then rounded of with a movie at the cinemas in Matakana. The beach was pretty busy and there were a lot of people in the water, which gave me an opportunity to photograph stuff that I don’t normally get to photograph. This guy, is a complete random, but I managed to get a pretty good shot of him surfing. I had my camera on continuous shooting, so I also managed to get a few subsequent shots of him falling off as well.

Shutter 1/160, f/9, ISO 100, Focal length: 250mm. I also used a circular polarising filter.

Posted via email from Collabor:8 Project

Chemo 3.0

Today is day 4 of the 3rd round of the 2nd line of chemotherapy.

The numbers get confusing for a bit. But really the main point is 3 rounds are now done, and I am on the slow road to recovery and get maybe 10 days of health in before I hit round 4. So far this round has possibly been a bit worse symptoms-wise than round 2, but about the same as round 1. There is no doubt in my mind that so far this regime is WAY better than the regime I had last year. The oxaliplatin that I had last year just about killed me, and I still don’t quite have full sensation at the tips of my fingers from its neuropathic effects. At least I can take a pulse now, which is more than I could do 6 months ago.

There isn’t too much to update on this round really apart from just letting you all know where I’m at.

I have also finished my GP run out in Botany downs last week and start up at Whangaparoa Peninsula this week for 3 weeks. Its SOOOO nice to be spending my up-times doing some thing productive rather than getting bored. I have really missed medicine, and even though at times I feel completely stupid, it’s slowly coming back to me. I’m really glad (even though I’m also exhausted) that I have chosen to get back into it.

Until next time..

Cruising – Collabor:8

The other night Hannah and I were in town, and we pulled up behind this car. As fortune would have it, I had my camera out and we quickly took this shot.
It’s technically not the best shot in the world, I blew out the highlights on the back of the car where my headlights where shining. The opportunities to get a better shot were limited by the phase changes of the traffic lights.
But that aside, I find it just to be an interesting photo to look at, particularly with the dog hanging out on one side.

Shutter: 1/125 F1.8 ISO 800; lens: 50mm f1.8

Posted via email from Collabor:8 Project

Gone Fishin’ – Collabor:8

Last night Hannah and I went for a walk along Westhaven Marina in Auckland. Along the rocks there were about 40 or 50 people with their rods out fishing as the sun went down. This was a fairly opportunistic shot of one the guys fishing there. I used the old snipe and run technique and caught his sillouette against the setting sun.

Shutter: 1/80, F 13, ISO 100. Lens: 50mm f/1.8 II

Posted via email from Collabor:8 Project

To Hannah….

Today is my wife Hannah’s birthday.

She is the unsung hero of the last two years of my life. We met in Sydney at a conference 3 1/2 years ago, and married 18 months later. Eleven months into our marriage came the event that changed both of our lives forever, mine perhaps more permanently.

I was diagnosed with cancer.

I sometimes wonder what is harder, being married to someone who has cancer, or being the person who has it. Often I think Hannah has the harder job. She gets to see me when I’m utterly miserable from nausea, when I’m unable to string coherent sentences together because of the effects of chemo on my brain. She gets to see me bounce from well to unwell with each round. She sees me lie around the house with no energy or motivation to be a constructive house husband.

Yet she still loves me…

I can only imagine what must go through her mind when she thinks of a future that might not have me in it. My future will always have her in it, but if I leave this earth before her, she is the one that has to live with my death, not me.

And that breaks my heart.

In fact that is the single hardest thing that I have had to come to terms with throughout this whole cancer process. The fact that I may be the cause of such anguish to Hannah, and not be able to be the solution to it. My husband instinct means I want to be there for her, not matter what. But sometimes, life’s cruel blows mean that at some point, she might have to go it alone….

without me….

… and that rips me apart….

And it is the hardest thing I have had to give up to God.

Hannah has been all the cliche’s you can think of, the wind beneath my wings, the person who makes me better, the person who completes me… the list goes on. Cliche’s only faintly touch on what words cannot even express what she means to me, and how supportive she has been to me over the last 14 months of life.

So today I want to honour Hannah. I want to acknowledge the fact that cancer is not a diagnosis that only affects the individual with the disease, it affects the family unit as well. People often comment to me about how I have dealt with this adversary, but the truth be told, Hannah’s strength is 80% of the source of my courage. She is the one to be honoured today. She is the one who needs to be remembered in your prayers as much me. I might be the one with cancer, but it is US together that battles it.

Hannah, you are the most awesome wife in the world…. all you other husbands should be jealous .

Love Jared.

Adjusting to the ‘Real’ World

This week has seen me re-enter the “real world’ so to speak. After more than a year off, I have begun my TI year starting with a GP run out in Botany Downs. The short 2 1/2 days of work was then brought down to earth by round 2 of chemo starting on Friday, and as I type this, I’m slowly to trying to excrete the toxins in my body out, and regain my strength again. I had initially thought I would be back in action midday Tuesday, but I think at this stage beginning back on Wednesday is a more realistic endeavour. This means I will be having 3 days out of every fortnight, which is hopefully workable with the medschool.

The first few days back were interesting. They largely involved the mainstay of General Practice, tonsillitis, skin cancer, lumps, bumps, gout, high cholesterol and blood pressure. There were encounters with snotty nosed kids, and worried mothers, and a guy who had a heart attack and was saved by community CPR. There was the guy who had his aortic nicked during an angioplasty, leading to cardiothoracic surgery, a double bypass, only to have his grafts block up within days of his surgery. The lady with a recent total knee replacement, and the other lady with early onset alzheimers.

Encounters with a broken humanity.

At times, life seems so good, we go along living our lives as we might plan it, clinging to the illusion that we have got what we want, and that we have ourselves sorted. Yet this fragile illusion can collapse around us at a moments breath.

General Practice allows you to engage with the community on a different level than normal, you get to see the brokeness that is shrouded by the lights and glamour of wealth, materialism, and the illusion that we have got it all sorted. You get to see first hand just how fragile our lives are, how quickly they can come tumbling down around us, or even more, how quickly it can come to an abrupt end….

I’m tired.

Tired because of chemotherapy….

Tired because I have worked the first 3 days of work in over a year….

Tired because I see that my brokenness is not limited to myself….

Tired because there will always be more questions than answers….

I have just heard the news this evening that a lecturer and excellent physician, Peter Black, from Auckland hospital died suddenly last night whilst mowing his lawns. He was top of his class, and always had us students in awe at his knowledge.

No one is immune, no matter who we think we are, we are not immune from the decay that surrounds us. We suffer ailments as simple as a cough and as lethal as a stroke, and the probability of either striking us seems arbitrary at best, cruel at worst.

Yet in the midst of this darkness, of the slow decline in health and in life, there seems to be hope. Hope for something better than what we have. Sometimes this hope drives us to more illusionary wealth and fortune. Sometimes it drives us to ponder the more introspective aspects to life.

My hope has driven me to serve.

I could wait out the dying days of my life, patient for my last breath. I could feel sorry for myself wondering what I ever did to deserve cancer. I could quietly pass away into the night.

But I can’t.

I have a hope for my life, and for those around me that drives me beyond my own ambition. I genuinely want to spend my life making the lives of others better. Whether its friends in first world, or strangers in the third; whether through being a listening ear, or literally saving a life with my own two hands.

My hope has driven me to serve.

And so, even though I am tired, I am incredibly energised, being back in the work I love to do. Medicine is my calling, and I will follow it. My brokeness tires me, but chosing to serve through it, and in spite of it, enables me to make a difference.

Albeit a small one.

Thanks for Listening.