Just a little news...

Edinburgh Photos

We got some photos from our son in Edinburgh. It was really nice to get them. We Syped the other day and he was down at a local park with his three children talking to us on his phone. The children were riding their bikes around the park and would say "hi" as they passed. Daniel is Maori/ Samoan and he is married to a Polish girl. The children are gorgeous, and also nice kids. Sadly we will not get to see them in person before I die. Scotland's infection rate with Covid 19 at the moment is the highest in Europe which worries us. We love them to bits. 

Lazy Dave

We head away during the week to receive more immunotherapy treatment in Christchurch. There are challenges at the moment. Some of my glands are not functioning as they ought and it is impacting on how I feel. Yesterday our daughter and son-in-law were out. They brought us some furniture and took some away. Normally I am in boots and all lifting, moving and doing physical work. This time I did assist, but had the feeling I was more in the way than useful. I find that I run out of energy and will take a rest and fall asleep so quickly. I find too that when I have been "working" as in preparing the weekly newsletter I send out for the Church folk during lockdown, it is much harder to focus. I am not the normally energetic person I used to be, and it is frustrating. 

Pain

When I heard I had cancer I thought of all the cancer patients I have known and found that at some stage most have had to battle pain levels. I have been reasonably fortunate but I am discovering that pain is increasing. Lying in bed I get pain in my side and shoulder. I can't get comfortable in bed. Today sitting in a beautiful lazy boy chair, the pain in my back made it hard going. I have been prescribed pain pills but they are not really doing the job. I am not getting a decent night's sleep so one of the topics of discussion when I see my oncologist later in the week will be "pain relief". It is really hard to describe "Pain". The pain you may hardly notice when you are out and about chopping firewood, can be excruciating when you are trying to get to sleep at night. 

Still learning.

I have been online this afternoon checking out some great TED talks on grief, death and dying. It has been helpful, though sometimes a bit gut wrenching. Three phrases which I appreciated. "Realise that Shit happens" "What medical care will help you live the way you want to?" "Living is more than staying alive".

I am also rereading a book I have read so many times before. "Man's Search for Meaning: an introduction to logotherapy." by Viktor E. Frankl. He is at the moment speaking of "finding meaning in suffering". I am not sure they are the right words for the type of book it is, but I am enjoying it yet again. (He describes his horrendous experiences in death camp concentration camps during WWII.) 

Birthdays

July

In late July it was my wife's birthday. What on earth do you get your wife of 52 years when it comes to celebrating the last birthday you will celebrate with her? I suspect by July next year I will have died of the cancer "we" are battling. What present can you purchase? As I have faced cancer and been in the process of writing and reflecting on my life, I have realised even more that without her I would have been nothing. When we got engaged I was a shy, uncertain teenager. I had thoughts and insights. I had some skills but none that stood out. I was a plumbing apprentice, probably fatefully doing some work with asbestos. She was a student teacher/teacher. Her input has enabled me to develop and be and do the sorts of things nobody would have predicted back then. What lasting gift could I buy? 

I went looking. She is riddled with arthritis now but you would not know it. She just keeps going. She will take on a project and see it through. She will take up a cause or support one of my causes and argue, question and stand up to the strongest of people against her. She will not back off if she believes in something. With her by my side in life I have been empowered to do stuff. I tried to think of some gift that expressed my appreciation of who she is and has been to me in my life? Some gift that would remind her when I am gone of her impact on my life and my deep appreciation and love. Her "strength and determination" amazes and empowers me. I had an inspiration. The Maori fishhook symbol means exactly that! I had given my son one when he left for overseas because he had turned his life around and I was proud of him. So I thought some ornament that depicted that would be good. On several occasions I went looking. There were some available but somehow they looked like cheap stuff, you would buy in a souvenir shop. They were glass or mock greenstone. I decided that I should make one so I purchased some little presents and promised more. In recent times I set about trying to make one. I found an old weathered piece of macrocapa wood I had shoved away years ago under one of my benches. I liked the colour. Then I began to carve something. It was not as good as I had hoped. I was trying to dash out to the workshop and work on it without her seeing it or knowing about it. I did some poker work on it with the words "Strength" and "Determination", but my poker work machine is a cheap toy and it did not work out well.   The wood dried out and split when I planed it. Everything went wrong. I varnished it and realised I should have oiled it instead. The varnish was old, the wrong colour and in the drying process dust stuck to the varnish. I made a base for it and carved two more words - Kia Kaha - which in Maori means "stay strong" - words made famous by the Maori Battalion in World War II. I made an inscription. I "finished" it. It looked rough, certainly cheap, amateurish and I nearly scrapped it to begin again. "She may never get it!" I thought. So I decided to give it to her saying "I mean well". So I put it in a box, sheepishly gave it to her over a month late, apologising for its rough appearance. She looked at it, we hugged and wept, holding each other tight. I think it was good gift! She took it into the lounge and set it up so all could see it. 

September

Just yesterday it was my birthday.  (It is always near or next to Father's day in NZ so I have always got gifts that include both celebrations) We are in a Covid Lockdown situation in New Zealand. There has been a recent outbreak of the delta version of Covid. In spite of criticism from overseas leaders (I suspect jealous ones) and some business leaders, our Prime Minister and leaders decided to "go early and go hard" as soon as one community case was found. (It came in from Australia) So we have been in lockdown and it looks like once again she and her health advisors will be successful. (Where in other countries numbers are going ballistic) So how do you celebrate your last birthday? I am so appreciating the sights and sounds of spring. On my birthday we decided to "go out for lunch". Of course you can't. No restaurant is allowed to operate. But in our local Port Chalmers township a restaurant is offering "click and collect" options, and they do lovely Pizzas. Jean rang them and we collected a lovely pizza, drove around to a bay on the harbour, and sat in the sun enjoying the scenery and talking. In the evening Jean cooked a roast dinner and our daughter and son-in-law came out (They are in our extended "bubble") with more goodies and we talked, ate and drank. I have had phone calls from family.  (We have been given vouchers for travel and accommodation by our children as birthday presents.) I decided that spending time with special people, in nice places was the greatest gift of love at this stage of my life.

Things out of kilter...

 "Lockdown Link" up back in production.

Last year when we were in Lockdown I undertook to send out a "newsletter" to the congregation each week with some thoughts, some news from people, photos and on line worship links. There are just a few who are not on email. So this last weekend we put out the second one for this Lockdown. We printed three off and delivered them to those not on email, with a couple of bran muffins. We put them in letterboxes. I have been astounded with how welcome they are. I have received notes of gratitude and others have sent news in. We dropped one off to an elderly lady along with a couple of muffins. Breaking the rules Jean talked at a distance at the door. When we got home she rang with real gratitude. You would think we had given her the moon. It was nice to be appreciated.

Father's Day in NZ

Today is Father's day in New Zealand. I received messages or calls from all our children except a foster daughter with severe handicaps. In her accommodation they are very careful not to let anybody from outside into the house nor anyone inside out of it. So we have not seen her for a week or two and I am hoping that soon I'll see her smile. I went up to the cemetery and visited my Parents memorial up there, taking some plum blossom. 

Hormones out of kilter

The Immunotherapy has mucked up some of my glands, so I am not receiving the right hormones.  My thyroid is knocked out and they are trying to get the right level of replacement pill. My adrenaline gland is malfunctioning and they are trying to get it OK.  I have a little bit of pain, I suspect more is further down the track. I have been getting very tired. I'll be out doing stuff, feel exhausted and come in, lie down, and to my surprise discover I have slept an hour. I feel weaker and not full of energy. I think they are getting it sorted, but I do not like it. On one hand I am amazed at the working of the human body. There's a pituitary gland in your head, about the size of a pea somebody says. If that malfunctions you know about it. I had a head scan the other day. After we had been talking about the results my cheeky oncologist signed off with, "And Oh Dave, you'll be please to know there is a brain present! Chuckle, chuckle!" What an amazing machine we live in. The various glands "take readings" and respond appropriately in the normal course of events.

It's crying time again...

I discover I cry at the drop of a hat. We have been offered counselling through the cancer care unit at the hospital at one stage, but I do not think I need it? I think there are times when it is appropriate to cry.  While waiting to tune into an online service I was flicking through favourite You tube hymns for my funeral music. I want tunes that express who I am, my values etc. I played a few and sat and wept. I watch the paralympics and weep at their fitness, guts and courage. I see the blossom of my last spring and feel both the joy and the sadness. I probably have not always wept when I should have in my life, but I think at this stage it is OK and healthy to have a weep or two. There is a lot going on in the world that is a bit disturbing. Afghanistan. Covid. Lockdown.  A terror attack in New Zealand! There's also isolation from people I would love to chat with because of the lockdown. I am fortunate though, I have had some beautiful phone calls from fire fighters and friends. 

Apart from that, all is good. My 73rd birthday tomorrow. Probably my last, but that is a lot longer than many in the world.

When we were kids, dad had a two cylinder Bradford van as his Plumbers van.

These are little native Kowhai trees from seeds I collected. I am hoping they will grow big enough for me to plant before I die.

A plum tree in our backyard in full blossom. Native Wood Pigeons (Kereru) love to perch amongst the blossom and eat the buds.

My dad at about age 47/48 and a young friend. Dad died at 49 years of age. The little girl died a couple of years ago. I conducted her wedding many years ago, and sadly also conducted her funeral. She was only in her early 50's when she died of cancer. Life is not always fair.

Life is full of ups and downs.

We were living Covid Free.

For at least six months we have been Covid free in the community in New Zealand. Anyone coming into the country has had to spend two weeks in isolation centres and sometimes it has reared its ugly head there. We have kept it out of the community and when we have looked overseas we have felt superior and fortunate.  We had been working through the population getting more people vaccinated, but even then it has been at a reasonably relaxed pace. We have let other nations have the vaccine, we were coping quite well without it. But then suddenly it was discovered in our community with one case, and it was the fast spreading delta variety. The government has put us immediately in Lockdown initially for three days. As far as they can tell it has come in from Australia, the New South Wales version. They are tracing it and finding more people exposed to it. From one person reported, suddenly we have now got 31 cases with lots of exploration, tracing and testing to do. Today they have added to our lockdown days until next Tuesday - a total of seven days. Of course there have been some protests, some unnecessary panic buying, and lots of questions of the government. But most people are happy and confident that "going early and going hard" will help us sort it out. Delta is a bit more difficult and people are getting tested in their thousands, more people are getting vaccinated and there is a sense of unknown about life again. We have been fortunate, for us life has generally been normal except much fewer tourists and not the freedom to pop overseas or have overseas friends and family here.  Even at the latest briefing now they recognise the links of all the cases so far, so they are making confident sounds, but we are in lockdown until next Tuesday at midnight. 

We are now fully vaccinated

The other day we had our second vaccination. We had been told that it impacts you more than the first injection, but we thought it was not as bad as the sore arm of the first vaccine. We feel a certain relief about that. We are happy to isolate and I am enjoying time to get some little jobs done. As far as my cancer is concerned I do feel wheezy more often. Sometimes I think somebody has said something behind me and I turn around and realise that it is just a wheeze in my chest. I had one moment yesterday when for some reason I struggled to get my breath and got a sore chest out of it. I struggled to get to sleep last night and wondered if this was a sign of things to come. An ex-politician died today and I watched a video of him discussing his cancer. He wasn't afraid to die, it was just "the manner of the dying" that scared him a bit.  I think that is where I am at. I am reluctantly accepting the early death, but I don't know about the misery I may have to go through getting there. With a sore chest and wheezy lungs last night I thought about that. This morning my brother rang me at about 10 a.m. and I had to admit to still being in bed, relaxed and reading. I have, however, had a good day today. I finished my first Lockdown project. I made a "garage" for my wheel barrow. Church elder, the late Ian Chadwick gave me the barrow in the late 1980's. It did a heap of work on Habitat for Humanity sites and was falling to bits. One of the volunteers disappeared it and brought it back a week or so later renovated with a flash plastic tray. I have since put a puncture free tyre on it. It is too good to be left outside but takes up room in garage, workshop and shed, so today we finished a special parking garage just for it. I am so fortunate for the people who have helped me on life's journey. Ian was a great guy. I remember after I took his funeral weeping on the roadside with his close friend.

"The Book" is finished!

I have been writing a book which I have titled, "Called by Love". It is subtitled "A happy heretic confesses." It has been on my computer and I have added to it bit by bit. I will tell my daughter that it is finished, but then add some more to it. I sent it off to her and thought it was finished but was reading another book and something prompted me to add another couple of paragraphs. I sent it to her two evenings ago and declared that it is finished! 

I am also writing the story of my life for family so I am trying to get my mind off the first "book" and onto this second paper. I have found it an interesting, sometimes disturbing exercise to look back on things I have done, and choices I have made and why I chose to make those choices.

May my book actually be finished; may I get through some good projects during lockdown; and may I enjoy the signs of spring happening all around me. 

Sad or living life more intensely?

Olympics are over 

The Olympics are over. I must admit to being one of the doubters. I felt for the Japanese people who were afraid of what it would do to the Covid numbers in their country. Their numbers of infections and deaths were rising before the Olympics started and I feared that having so many people travelling in and out of the country, it could have been devastating for the population. I wondered about the wisdom of holding the sports festival. But it went ahead and everything seems to have been well managed. I guess there will be a collective sigh of relief from the Japanese population when the last athletes leave. It seems to have been well managed. 

New Zealand Athletes did well.

Of course as a loyal kiwi I was delighted whenever any of our athletes got a medal. We "punched above our own weight" and had the best medal total we have ever had. There were some astounding results for some of our competitors.  In spite of my caution about the games I managed to watch most medal winning competitions for the New Zealand team. I cried with each one. Why? I have been trying to figure that out. I LOVE New Zealand, I think there is no better country to live in. I am proud of our athletes, but why the tears as the NZ national anthem is sounded, the flag raised and the medals are presented? 

Part of it maybe because as I know my life is short, I am simply living life more intensely, and tears flow because whatever feeling I feel, I feel more intently now?

I wonder too if it is because at other times I have used the Olympics or Commonwealth Games to spur me to get out and pound the pavement, go to the gym or climb the hills. But this time I know as my lungs seem to me to be "drawing in" that whatever athletic prowess I had has gone for good.  Maybe I am simply sorry for myself?

They had the replays of the winners on TV last night and I found I had to leave the room. It was too gut wrenching for me.

Anyway, I am a proud New Zealander, not just because of the skills of my fellow citizens, but because of the way they carried themselves during the games, expressing real sportsmanship. 

The First Medal struck a chord

The very first medal we got was a bronze in the Triathlon. It was all very dramatic. Our young triathlete had done so well and crossed the line. He immediately found himself coming to the aid of the gold medalist who had crossed the line and had collapsed on the ground groaning and in great discomfort. Our triathlete with others helped the winner into a wheel chair. Shortly after that he was interviewed. He broke down in tears as he mentioned the support of his family at home and he wept when he talked of his dad who had died 12 years ago and never saw him race. I identified with that. Some people may say, "That was twelve years ago and he's not over his grief!" But I could identify with his tears. When my daughter got married and there were toasts remembering family, I choked up. My Dad had died when I was 15 years old. Now more than 25 years later I missed my father. He had never met my wife or my daughter, or my children. He never knew what I had done with my life. While you do move on with grief, I believe you still hold the loss and it emerges from time to time. 

Five young lives lost needlessly

We went to Christchurch for immunotherapy treatment. While the side effects are not as noticeable as chemotherapy, you do feel exhausted. Straight after the treatment we drove toward home to the township of Timaru, about halfway home. We passed Meadows Road as we came into Timaru. We carried on to Dunedin the next day, Friday, but we learned earlyish on Friday evening of a car  crash, caused by excessive speed in which five 15-16 year olds were killed, and the driver (19) seriously injured. The car hit a lamp post in Meadows Road and split in two. One victim was riding in the boot of the car.  There are counsellors and trauma people arriving to assist the families, the friends and school pupils affected. I wept then too. The poor parents in the five, perhaps six families impacted will always hold that grief. Long after counsellors, relatives and the community have moved on, they will always wonder what their child might have become? In spite of the effort of counsellors and trauma people, they will be sadly impacted for the rest of their lives. They will no doubt have a haka in honour of the kids and fitting tributes with jokes will be shared. There will be celebrations of their lives, food and supportive (or is it "distracting") gathering will happen, but the deep loss will still be there.

An unnecessary tragic loss of life. "When will we ever learn?"  

I had a weep.

 Treatment

We came back from Christchurch after another treatment of Chemotherapy and Immunotherapy for my mesothelioma. I have found the three-week cycle tough going, and we were to review the results of a CT scan. There was no advance in the cancer and just a little shrinkage in the last two months. The oncologist tried to put a positive side to this but we could tell it was not what he was hoping for.  As well as that there was a difficulty with the treatment impacting my 72 year old kidneys. The decision was made to stop the chemotherapy. While life will be easier, it does mark a surrender to the disease. There are no more attempts to shrink it. Immunotherapy which will continue will only hold it, but will eventually impact other organs in my body in the same way it is already impacting my thyroid. So, though for me it was not surprising news, it was a bit disappointing and had me facing again the reality of my impending death "some time" in the next year I suppose.

No further real contact

We Skyped with my son in Edinburgh and had quite a good talk with him as he told us of some of their thinking for the future of their family. He has a Polish wife and three delightful children. There are of course challenges in the Covid situation in the UK that could only get worse. I guess I realised that I will never be with him or them in person again. I love my kids and their kids.

Floods

I watched the news and there were unprecedented floods in Germany, Belgium and in the Netherlands. But also floods in our home country of New Zealand with well over 1000 people evacuated and considerable losses. Still in New Zealand and around the world there are people denying climate change. 

Disent

There are farmers and nurses protesting Government directions in New Zealand. The costs for housing in New Zealand is escalating, normal families struggle to own their own home, and renting is expensive. While New Zealand is doing well with Covid and even the economy is doing reasonably well, there are growing inequalities and resultant social impacts of that. 

Too timid?

I am writing a "book" about my convictions now but also re-reading my favourite books about Jesus. My "book" may never be finished as I am reminded of different aspects of Jesus' message and keep adding to it. I become more convinced of the distortion of Church life and directions as not really representing the way of Jesus. The thing that hurts is that I cannot now do anything about it! I have had my life and looking back I wonder if I have been too timid? People have commented that I pushed the boundaries in small ways that many could handle. I tried not to cause major division or to do things that would stop people listening to my challenges of lifestyle, priorities and directions. But I am asking, "Have I wasted my time?" "Have I been too timid?" It is too late now. 

It all piles up

So as I settled into home again after treatment I felt deeply sad. I had a wee weep. I told my wife how sad I was and she just came in and held me. All is OK. It was the accumulation of all these things and more that overwhelmed me. I am learning that for me life is closing down and the old activist David will be taking a back seat. Life feels out of control, but that is my new reality. Chemotherapy side effects drag you down anyway. Today I decided on a project, went out to the workshop to begin, but returned feeling too shaky and weak. I guess I am allowed a weep every now and then. 

A couple of early print offs of my "book". 

The three shelves of my favourite "Jesus" books.

 

A privileged journey.

 I visited the Doctor at 10 a.m. last Friday and met a retired firefighter in the waiting room. We fell into familiar warm conversation. He had lost his wife early in the year. He was arranging a meal for retired firefighters who were going through a tough time and they would like me to attend. I then went down town for a blood test and to buy lunch, and bumped into another retired fire fighter. Again warm supportive and friendly conversation followed even though we were standing in the cold. I felt and appreciated the warmth of these two encounters.

I took my lunch to St John Ambulance and was there from midday until 2:35 p.m. in friendly conversation with various people. There was interest, concern, laughter and general sharing about life and their work. Several people said,"If you need help in the time ahead there will be plenty of people here keen to help."

I moved on to the fire stations from 2:45 until about 5:15 pm. and enjoyed more conversations. I came home feeling really privileged to have been a Workplace Chaplain. It has been and still is an enjoyable and valuable part of my life experience.

I was at an ecumenical four day seminar about mid year in 1993 and shared a motel unit with a senior military chaplain. We seemed to click and discussed theology, our work, our perspectives and experiences in life. On the last morning he asked me if I would be interested in chaplaincy in the military. "You're the type of person we are looking for!" he said. "You would be good at it." I told him that my latent pacifist tendencies may not fit well in the military.

During the four days I had similar conversations with the late Ruth Mitchell. She was director of Workplace Chaplaincy (Interchurch Trade and Industry Mission) in the Otago/Southland region. Again we talked about our work, our perspectives and some theology over breaks in the program. In the last session I ended up sitting next to her. "Would you be interested in Industrial Chaplaincy David, you would be good at it. Some ministers are not good in the workplace, but you are the type of person that could fit into the work scene." I said I'd think about it. She got in touch with me when she was preparing to run a week long live-in training week for new Industrial Chaplains. I agreed to attend. They watched your interactions with others. As well as various training sessions, they checked out your micro counselling and conversation skills. At the end of it a panel of people was to interview us and then decide. I walked into the room and immediately the chairman said, "There is no need for an interview, you are well suited for the job, we can offer you a position when you are ready."

In February 1994 I began in chaplaincy at the Fire Station for four hours a week. The chiefs there said they would review it in six months because some chaplains had not been ideal. I guess they forgot to review it and 27 years later I am still there. I am chaplain to a brewery and to St John Ambulance. I did a Newspaper for just a couple of years but four chaplaincies and Church ministry was too much.

I have been so privileged to have been a chaplain. I love the job, and feel like I have heaps of people who are real friends in the journey of life. The experiences, the interactions and the sense of being useful to people have been such a rich part of my journey. I am so grateful that I did say "Yes" to Ruth.

Grumpy me.

The side effects of the last lot of Chemotherapy -Immunotherapy were not as bad as the first two. Next week I go for my fourth lot of treatment. They do exhaust me though.

When I get to Church these days I am sitting in the pew and not taking any leadership role. We have different preachers leading and I am finding it a bit difficult.

Confession...

I find that I get annoyed when shortly after the first hymn a prayer of confession is called for, then the speaker declares, in different words depending on the preacher for the day, that I am forgiven and should be thankful for the mercy of God. It grates with me. It sort of pictures God sitting upon a throne, basically angry at me, awaiting me to grovel for forgiveness. Once I have done that he has given this servant of his the right to declare that I am forgiven. 

It is the wrong picture of God for me. My mum was a bit like that. She demanded I come to her and apologise, even after she had hit me for what she thought I had done wrong. If I didn't say I was sorry I might get hit again. Even if I did apologise it was an admission of guilt, so I got given some task I had to do as further punishment for my wrong. Either way I was made to feel really bad.  

My Dad was different. Mum would sometimes send me to my room and say, "Wait till you father gets home." I would hear Dad arrive home and hear mum telling him the terrible wrong things I had done. Eventually Dad would come into the room. He would sit on my bed and simply say, "What's up Mick? What has happened?" and he would listen.   God is love - that is what love does, seeks to understand. 

These preachers have been taught to lead in a confession. I can hear the lecturer telling them. "Worship involves A.C.T.S. Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving and Supplication." But as I follow Jesus' interactions with people in the Gospels I cannot think of anywhere he asked people to confess at the start of a conversation? In the story of the "Prodigal son" or perhaps more correctly "The Waiting father", the son has not even begun to speak before the father throws his arm around him in a loving welcome. He does not get a chance to finish his carefully prepared confession before party preparations are underway! That is not the way it feels in Church. 

Church ... this is not me!

Last Sunday I attended Church. It was what has become a normal service at Church these days. The leader was bright and did her best to communicate her message. It was orthodox theology. I disagreed with how she unpacked the reading, but that was because I see John's Gospel a bit differently.  Indeed  I have found that I now agree with John Dominic Crossan, that the Gospels contain parables about Jesus, which involve fact and fiction. But her sermon was in a way, my first draft. It did not hit earth for me anywhere. The whole service was insular and felt like we were part of an in-group and our job was to get more people into the in-group. I thought that if I had one of my fire fighters at Church they would have felt like they did not belong. It was orthodox, inward looking with a very "old" fifties perspective on Church. The hymns and songs tended to see salvation as getting to heaven when we die. I stopped singing several times. That is not where I am at. I noticed my wife having a little weep during one verse where I had stopped.  

All in all I felt like "I do not belong here. This does not express my faith."  These preachers are younger people so I ache for the church of the future.  A blogger friend gave me a book recently. "The Christian Agnostic" by Leslie D. Weatherhead. Written in 1965 it has these lines.  "Many wonder how the elaborate ritual and ceremony of some services can possibly have developed from the teaching of a young man in a boat on the sea of Galilee who talked so simply and yet so profoundly and relevantly to very simple people. Others find so much meaningless drivel preached in sermons that they feel it is a waste of time to listen to them and a crime to encourage them." 

Cancer treatment...

On Monday I get a CT scan. This will tell the oncologist and us if the Chemotherapy and Immunotherapy is making any difference to the cancer in my lungs. As soon as the scan is done we will travel to Christchurch where I will get another dose of chemotherapy and Immunotherapy. This will be my fourth dose and initially that was all the chemotherapy I would have. But in his notes from last session I notice the oncologist is thinking of the possibility of two more sessions. That will be six more weeks of "no life" or greatly disrupted life. What will be the gain? I am wondering how I will respond? I am leaving my options open so that I can be open to all the possibilities, but I would be happy if next week's chemotherapy is my last. We will see what happens. A lot will depend on the result of the scan. 

Meanwhile... at the fire station...

I was pleased to be able to return to St John Ambulance and the fire stations to do chaplaincy yesterday. Last Wednesday I was invited for coffee with some fire fighters, and I have had a few phone calls so I have not been completely out of touch. At St John I learned of changes there and simply caught up with people. They expressed pleasure at having me come in and I enjoyed the conversations as staff passed through the lunch room. At the fire station I was warmed by the reception I received. It was good to do normal stuff, introduce myself to four new firefighters, ask about the calls responded to and to give and receive cheek in the normal fire station banter. Good too to hear about people's lives. There was interest but welcome and warmth. There is restructuring happening so I asked one man up in the management circles how he was going and where he fitted in now. We talked about that for awhile and he asked about my cancer treatments.  I shared my adventures with treatments and mentioned that at some stage I would have to pull the pin on chaplaincy. He is Maori and he smiled... "Yeah but... you know that we Maori have a saying... It says that once you are whanau (family) you are always whanau. And you are whanau Dave and around here you always will be." I told him that is how it feels like returning, that I found support and aroha (love) at the fire station and that it was special.

Dunedin Central Fire Station... a unique photo in that the building opposite had been demolished and the concrete pad covered with rain water. 

Here I go again...

We are in our "Cottage" which is the motel we rent in Christchurch when we come for Chemotherapy treatment. We drove part of the way here yesterday and completed the trip this morning to get here in time for a blood test to be taken at St George's hospital. We are to have an appointment with the oncologist tomorrow and he will tell me if the blood test is OK whether I will continue to have the chemotherapy/immunotherapy scheduled for Thursday. We will travel home on Friday. I need to confess to feeling a bit negative about the whole process. In my reading about mesothelioma it seems that even if you hit it with pretty rugged treatment it does not improve the prognosis much at all. I have been having one week of travel and treatment, one week of feeling sick, and one OK week. Then the cycle is repeated again. I am to have four sessions of treatment so that is twelve weeks of my life that will have been mostly all taken up with the process. That is three months when I have not been able to work much. The stuff I need to do around our house and acre before my death has been delayed. Chaplaincy and worship leadership has been disrupted. As well as that the treatment costs a lot of money! But will the treatment give me three months more of life? To quote the oncologist, "There are no guarantees." So I get a bit negative. I am here. If I get the treatment I'll go home to a miserable week next week. I guess it is a calculated risk. Wish me luck! I guess it is right to do my best to be around as long as possible.

Tired but encouraged

 A simple card...

On Saturday I received a simple hand made card with a handwritten note inside. In the late 1970's we ministered at the Palmerston North Church of Christ for six years. It was a very busy time but also a time of learning. It was our first full time ministry out of college, and I look back and recognise I would have done some things differently now.  They had recently heard about my terminal illness and as a Church decided to send the card.

"You are both in our prayers as a congregation as some still in the community that gathers here in Palmerston North still recall your ministry here and the huge contribution you made in their lives."

It was so encouraging to get this little note after what has sometimes been quite a miserable week when I have had times of feeling weak and quite sick. 

The Palmerston North Church of Christ. We built the chapel while we were in ministry there. 

I can still do it...

My daughter and son in law came out on Saturday. We worked on repairing and "hen proofing" a fence in our paddock. It required installing posts and hammering in stakes. We did not get it finished, but we were working quite hard until it was virtually dark. I am a little stiff and sore today, but I was quite pleased with what I managed to do. I really think the horrible chemotherapy must be improving my lung capacity. I was puffing hard at times, but I am sure that a few weeks ago I would not have been able to do what I achieved. It encourages me because there is one further fence I want to complete, and I now feel confident that I will be able to do it. 

Over the floods, treatment and troubles.

The cafe we went to with our son: I love the Maori proverb.

The day after the treatment. Not feeling great but enjoying a walk in the bush.

My wife Jean. She epitomises the saying, "When the going gets tough the tough get going."

This is our youngest son Simon and his wife and youngest child. We had a great evening relaxing with them. 

Riccarton Bush is a small area of original native bush that has been preserved within Christchurch city. This is the original Dean family cottage.

Native Kahikatea trees. Of course used by pioneers for building.

Fascinating root systems of the trees.

Second session of Chemotherapy with Immunotherapy.

We had an interesting week for the first week of June. On the the last weekend of May in mid Canterbury (North of where we live) there were unusually heavy rains and the braided rivers that run from the mountains, across the plains to the sea, filled with raging torrents of water.  We were lined up to go to Christchurch for the second dose of chemotherapy /immunotherapy. We were going to drive up on the Monday and Tuesday to have a blood test at St Georges hospital on Tuesday afternoon. Our plan was a meeting with the oncologist on Wednesday morning, treatment on Thursday, injection on Friday, and come home to Dunedin on Saturday. 

Over the weekend more and more roads were closed to Christchurch. Our daughter Angela, texted on Saturday afternoon suggesting that we will need to fly. Eventually she texted saying that she had booked us on a plane on Tuesday morning. That was a good move because by Tuesday all roads to Christchurch were blocked by flood waters. 

We flew to Christchurch, hired a car and went through the planned program. Angela was working in Auckland from Wednesday so she flew to Christchurch on Wednesday, attended the meeting with the oncologist, and flew on to Auckland. The oncologist was very pleased with my blood tests. I had handled the first treatment OK. He decided he would increase the chemo by 20%. So Thursday the infusion went ahead as planned.

Friday was OK - Jean & I went for a walk in Riccarton Bush. The injection happened on Friday afternoon and we picked Angela up at the airport on Friday evening. 

On Saturday she drove us the five plus hours home through damaged roads and bridges. I was sitting in the back feeling more sick as the trip went on.  Sunday and Monday were miserable with very little food staying down. It really hits you like a bus and you wonder where your energy goes.

By Tuesday, I had managed to keep food down and had started to feel partly “normal” again. I went down the back to feed the hens and collect firewood and was surprised at how weak I felt. The chemotherapy impacts on every part of your body. Even trying to concentrate to read or write is quite hard. The oncologist talked about Chemo-brain, but also said something like, "Mind you if your base line is low, what can you expect?" with a cheeky grin.

After the first lot of treatment we found that it was not until the week after that I returned to "normal".  I have a guy filling in at Fire Service chaplaincy and I have lots of sick leave to use up so I decided I would have the full week off.  I don’t mind admitting it is really hard going at times, and I wonder if the treatment is worth the effort. …I have felt really sick, with all sorts of impacts that are not nice to talk about. One night in bed I felt almost delirious sometimes…. But today, Friday I am now feeling more energetic and even went to my favourite hardware store. 

The plan is that after the third session in a week or two there will be a scan to see if it is making a difference. I feel like I have more lung capacity but I guess we will see after the scan. 

After two more sessions of chemo and immunotherapy the plan is to have 6 weekly immunotherapy treatments to slow decline down, I guess until it stops working. 

That is my life at the moment... One week of travel and treatment. The next week of sickness and recovery. The third week of relatively normal life, but then the cycle starts again. We are half way through.

Writing a "book" 

It sounds like I am full of my own importance, but I am writing a "book" about where I am at theologically at the moment. The working "title" is "A happy heretic confesses and celebrates his walk with Jesus." I began and printed off a draft, but it has grown, been altered and shaped since then. I tell my daughter that I'm finished, but a few days later I will tell her again, "I'm really finished now." It is not really a book, but I just thought a few copies might be of interest to various people when I'm gone.  I am also putting together a history of my life for the family to share with grandchildren. Both exercises have been an interesting and growing experience.

Nurses are wonderful

Getting the treatment means you enter this room where there are six big comfortable chairs. They find a vein in your arm and hook you up, and I sit there receiving various drugs for two and a half hours. There are five other cancer patients coming and going, and I guess all are a bit frightened by finding themselves with various forms of cancer. The nurses are welcoming, caring, good humoured yet not flippant. They are under pressure because sometimes things go wrong, air gets in the line or a change of drug is required. Patients come and go, and watching them it must be emotionally draining working with us patients. I sent them a note just to say "thank you" and to express support. Nurses in NZ are at the moment seeking higher pay. I think these ones deserve it. 

Catching up with Simon and family

One of the good things about travelling to Christchurch has been the opportunity to spend a bit of time with our youngest son, Simon and his family. I have been so fortunate because both he and our local daughter have been very supportive. Simon has taken time off work to sit in on oncology meetings and the other day he came and sat with me in the treatment room. He spent time with Jean at the hospital cafe and after treatment we went shopping and had a special afternoon tea.  We also had a meal with him and his family and enjoyed sitting talking with and reading with his children. I am very fortunate to have the people I have around me, I hope they know of my appreciation. 

"ALIVE!"

 "Dead man walking"

I absolutely loved the film "Dead Man Walking" the story of Sister Helen Prejean relating with a man on death row and the community who saw nothing but evil in him. I have often thought that Chaplains of all sorts should watch the film, discuss the film and learn what it means to walk with people. But recently I have often thought of that call, "Dead man walking" apparently the announcement when a prisoner is led out to be executed. Sometimes, because of my terminal illness, I'll walk into a room and every one looks at me and you think... "That is what they are seeing. Not 'me' but a dead man walking" I try to bust through that stunned reaction to it all. 

I was with a friend buying chook feed at a farmers supply company. The store man was coming past, recognised us as regular customers and said as he passed, "Hi, how are you?" "I'm good thanks." I responded. My friend sniggered, "Wonder what he would say if you told him the truth?... The conversation would go, 'Hi how are you?' - 'Me? Oh I'm dying!' - It would be great to see the reaction!" 

In a hardware store a little later I bumped into a man I have known awhile. "Hi Dave." "Oh Hi John, it's good to see you!" followed by a warm handshake. Then in a good humour but with genuine warmth and sincerity he simply said, "I heard about your predicament! So sorry to hear that. It's a real bugger! Lots of people are thinking of you." and our conversation moved on to his life, his retirement and friends we have in common. It was so good... concern, but I was still me, our friendship real, and I was part of life.

A little later in the store I bumped into one of my brother's friends. I knew my brother had been at his house the night before and my situation had been discussed. "Hi Dave" he said awkwardly. "Hi" I said, "I heard you caught up with my big brother! That's good." "Yes!" Stunned silence and awkwardness. He did not know what to say next, yet his whole demeanour screamed, "Help! Dead man walking!" I was nasty I said nothing to put him out of his misery, "Well better go, catch ya!" 

First I want to say I am NOT a "dead man walking." In some ways I feel more alive than I ever have. Fantails, Pukeko, Rosellas fly past my backyard, and these days I REALLY notice them. My wife cooks a meal and these day's I really taste it. I read a book and these days I really soak it in, chew on its truths and absorb them. Of course I am terminally ill, but I am in many ways so much more deeply alive. I am enjoying that!

Secondly I am still just "Dave".  I am still interested in them and their journey. I still have opinions. I still am happy to talk current affairs, cars, tools, the weather. There is no need for stunned silence. 

Mind you there have been times when I have been the "stunned silence" person uncertain of what to say next, so I understand. 

We people are funny creatures.

Hope you are enjoying your journey.

A "Plan" for the journey

 Chemotherapy/Immunotherapy

Last Thursday I had my first session of Chemotherapy/Immunotherapy treatment. You take appropriate medication, then sit in comfortable lazy boy chairs and receive the infusion through a tube in your arm. The nurses were wonderful, friendly, with a good sense of humour, but not flippant. They warned me of side effects. It made the reality of what I face sink in a bit more. This treatment may slow my decline but this is it, I am facing the end of my life and there is no escape from it. 

While sitting there I got to thinking about how I am going to handle this journey? I am learning not to plan, not to dream, that I have to be in a slow shut down mode. I had been receiving steroids and I find that when I have ever been given steroids it gets my mind going. So I decided that I need "a plan". I need to think this stage of life through and highlight important things to concentrate on. So while sitting there and since I have evolved a "plan". It has already been tested.

Effects

On Friday I did not really feel any after effects. The nurses were surprised. On Saturday my daughter and son-in-law drove us home to Dunedin again.  350 plus kilometres through the centre of the South Island of NZ with beautiful country and mountain scenery. I felt washed out and tired, but no real side effect. Sunday I began to feel the impact, with all sorts of uncomfortable side effects to cope with, and absolute weakness and tiredness. I recalled that I have been fortunate in that I cannot remember the last time I ever vomited. Now I was having eye watering, stinging episodes. I could not eat safely, and my stomach perpetually hurt. That continued Monday and Tuesday and just yesterday, Wednesday I began to feel "human" again. I can tell you that "plan" made on steroids was sorely tested, and I began to say, "Is it worth it? Just let me die!"

I recall when I was running half marathons an experienced runner said to me that whenever you decide you are going to train for one, tell your friends and family, and that will keep you on track. So I have decided to share my plan and hope friends and family will keep me on track on this journey to the end. Below is my "plan". 

I guess I am boasting but I discovered this on the Dunedin Fire brigade facebook page...

I LOVE NEW ZEALAND

I have lived nearly all my life in New Zealand, except for four years in Australia. (I have some good friends there - but don't tell my NZ mates) I am so fortunate to have lived here. I have visited other places. Scotland I loved. England - London- York - I really enjoyed. In spite of the fact we had lousy accommodation, I enjoyed Amsterdam. Other places I enjoyed, but it was ALWAYS good to come home to New Zealand. Most recently with a Labour Government led by a very empathetic, clear thinking person, it has made me proud to be a New Zealander. Of course like everywhere, we have our problems. But I like our more egalitarian values. I like that we have a treaty with Maori, the indigenous people and we are constantly working out what that means. Anyway we are in Christchurch and in our motel there is a wall hanging with familiar New Zealand phrases and listings of well known New Zealand items. I simply share that in honour of my country.

"Choice" slang for "Good"

Stubbies - a style of mens shorts or small bottle of beer.

"Sweet as" - "Choice" - good, OK, "that's fine"

Hokey Pokey - a sugary sweet often included in Ice cream! 

Kia Ora - Maori Greeting Aroha - Love

Jandals - simple beach shoe with straps between the first and second big toe holding the soul on. (Pictured above the word by "Sheep"

AOTEAROA - Maori name for NZ

BUZZY BEE - a wooden NZ child's toy.

Your neck of the woods - your locality - where you come from.

KIWI - a flightless bird which has become our symbol. We love to call ourselves and be called "KIWI's"

KIWI AS BRO - proud to be a Kiwi

TIKI - Maori greenstone carved figure hung around the neck.

HAKA - Maori "challenge" dance. 

The Land of the long white cloud - an English translation of a phrase Maori used for New Zealand.

My life has been full of grace - unmerited favour. One of those great graces has been the country I have lived in and loved.

"Just sayin'" "Kiwi as Bro!" "NZ - Sweet as!"

Two posts in one night? I guess when you are facing Chemo and Immunotherapy the next day, that is what you do. We also watch on our Maori TV channel an excellent talk show. - It is a pity our TV producers on other channels try to emulate stupid shows from other countries. - This one was as kiwi as and really good.

Bloods OK!

Chemotherapy back on. 

I received a delightful phone call from Ashley, a nurse at St George's hospital Cancer centre. She told me that drinking water and the change of the blood pressure med had worked, my kidney's are OK to proceed with the chemotherapy/immunotherapy. I read an article about Mesothelioma which talked about several cases. One 68 year old woman had chemotherapy and was "in remission" and feeling great. When she relapses she plans to have immunotherapy. Another woman who is now dead, had immunotherapy and it gave her another year of life. I found these encouraging. 

About 2 p.m. tomorrow (NZ time) I begin to receive an infusion in my arm of chemotherapy "poison" with the immunotherapy drug. I have to sit reasonably still for 2.5 hours. I'll read a new book I have by Richard Holloway. 

"Lots of people are praying for you!"

I have lots of lovely Christian Friends who are praying for me. I appreciate the prayers and thoughts, it makes you feel appreciated and not alone in the battle. 

There are many Christian friends and others who like to deny the reality. "You'll be right, you're too good to die." - "Nah! not true!" "Or you'll be right, you have so much life and energy, you'll beat this." - again "Nah!" Again I appreciate the thought but you and I know a heap of VERY good people who have died unfairly. Shit happens. 

Thirdly there are lovely Christian people who say, "You'll be right we all are praying for you." or "you'll be right, there are heaps of people from many churches and other Christian groups praying for you. So many people- you'll be right." Is prayer a popularity vote? Does God say, "Wow I better take notice he just hit a thousand votes! Prayers! Poor old Joe Bloggs who only knows a few people, he'll miss out!" As much as I want to live, I would find it hard falling in love with, and worshipping a god like that! 

Thanks for being with me in thought and prayers. My job is to still find ways to enhance life (Help Jesus with his mission of bringing fullness of life.) for people as I go through this experience. It is also my job to continue to grow in love. I'm tryin' that. 

A Maori wiata (song) called Te aroha (Love) goes

(Maori)

(English)

Te aroha
Te whakapono
Me te rangimarie.
Tätou, tätou e.

Love,
Hope,
Peace,
For us all.

That is my prayer for all and for my readers.... God knows this old world could do with a dose of all three!

52 years married.

 Wedding Anniversary today

Today was our 52nd wedding anniversary. Given my mesothelioma it could well be our last Wedding Anniversary together. I do choke up at that prospect. 

Last week we travelled to Christchurch for me to undergo chemotherapy and Immunotherapy treatment. We arrived on Tuesday and I was asked to get a blood test done. On the Wednesday we attended an orientation session, at which they told us all the bad news about the possible side effects and how best to cope. My wife, daughter and son sat in on the session which was good. We went for lunch and got a phone call and was asked to come into the hospital again for a session with the oncologist. He had caught up on the blood test and my kidney function numbers were not right. Apparently the kidneys are important for coping with the chemotherapy mixture they put into you. So I was told to go away, drink water, drop a blood pressure pill and get another blood test on Monday of this week. 

We were of course disappointed, and drove all the way back to Dunedin, 356 kilometres. This morning we went into town and I gave blood for a new blood test. All day we have been awaiting news from Christchurch hoping that we will get the all clear for chemotherapy to start. The results will probably come out over night and we may be contacted tomorrow. We'll wait and see.

This morning we had a special morning tea and bought a couple of plants to mark the anniversary. Tonight we went out for tea to a Thai restaurant and enjoyed the time out.  I wrote the following on "facebook" this morning. - 52 years married today.... what a varied, creative, exciting, playful, constructive, challenging, and grace filled partnership. I was/am a troubled shy "child", Jean has strengthened me and made up for my weaknesses on my journey.

Packing up a life

On Saturday my daughter and husband decided to come out and help us to do some clearing out and taking things to the rubbish tip. So I was going through stuff wondering what to get rid of. I have kept a lot of stuff "in case I need it." But now is the time to discard it. I have a lot of stuff like tramping gear I will not probably use again, but if I choose to discard it I feel like I am giving up? It is the same with tools, or wood I have stored? What attitude should I have? Anyway we did a trailer load to the rubbish tip, took some other things for the shop at the tip to be sold to others, and then stacked fire wood that I had chopped up from tree branches I chopped down with some fire fighters. (since it will have to dry for 12 months at least, I guess I'll never use it.)

"We're only here for a short time!"

Today we went into a hardware store. These are my favourite types of stores where I usually covet so many things. But these days nothing attracts me. What is the use of adding to tools I have, others will only get them? What is the use of making plans? Again I see properties for sale, vehicles for sale or other things that might have once attracted me, now they are no longer of interest. Other things pass through my mind, a caring ministry possibility; a charitable venture I might be interested in etc. etc. and the reality hits and I no longer dwell on them. I am only here for a short time longer, why buy? Why dream?

I look at the things people try to sell on TV, on line, in the newspaper and I think, "What a waste of resources, we are all only here for such a short time, that really is not worth wasting resources on." I mix with shoppers in crowded shops (it never has been a favourite past time of mine) and I see the covetous looks, the fretting, the desire and I want to yell, "DON"T ... we are all only here for a short time! You can have all the stuff you want, but in the long run, it will not matter at all."

I was given a book and have enjoyed reading it - but at times thought, "Why? It sparked my thinking, and excited me, but this brain will be dead soon?" I bought a book by an author I love, but again wondered, "Why study, think and dwell. Thoughts will be gone?" (I am continuing to read and think and dwell... A recent ex-mayor of our city died after a battle with cancer recently. He said to a friend during his last week, that it had been an opportunity for growth. That is what I am finding, and it is good!)

I have read of people receiving a death sentence in places where they still have capital punishment. I have often wondered what it would be like to live on death row? Now I am finding out. I try to get on and enjoy each day, but it is like living with a black cloud above you, waiting for the storm to strike. I will and am coping one day at a time. I am getting increasingly breathless and nowadays there are twinges of pain. Lying in bed on my side I feel pressure points. There are constant reminders of my loss of ability and prospective loss of life. .... but I also have lots of messages and reminders of people who are "with me". I have expressions of love and friendship, these certainly help. A prayer I have had on my wall for years reads;

God grant me

SERENITY

to accept the things

I cannot change

COURAGE

to change the things I can,

and

WISDOM

to know the difference.

When my mother was dying she had a booklet open on the bedside cabinet to Teresa of Avila's quote;

“Let nothing disturb you, 

nothing frighten you, 

all things are passing, 

God is unchanging."

Once when I was with her and she winced in pain, she opened her eyes and said, "This too will pass." 

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