Category Archives: Beyond the Boundaries

Week II Post-Surgery

Summer                                                                   Recovery Moon

Week II post surgery. My energy improves daily though I’m not back to full stamina. The surgical stigmata, six wounds where the robot’s arms pierced my skin, are healing nicely. It no longer hurts to lie down on them. An unpleasant, but anticipated side effect of the surgery, temporary incontinence, seems to be clearing up much more rapidly than I’d imagined it would. And, most importantly, I’m presumptively cancer free, the only question being possible microscopic metastases. I test for that in early September.

The tomorrow wall has crumbled. I can now see into the future again. Yesterday I made Amtrak reservations for my 50th high school reunion in September. The overnight California Zephyr runs from Denver to Chicago and then a short ride on the Cardinal to Lafayette, Indiana where I’ll pick up a rental car and drive the rest of the way. I do it this way because the Cardinal gets into Indianapolis after midnight and this allows me a good night’s sleep, plus I can gradually re-enter Hoosier space driving familiar highways back to Alexandria.

camp chesterfield2
The Trail of Religion

Again this time, as I did for the 45th, I plan to stay at Camp Chesterfield, a Christian Spiritualist center. It’s a quirky, old, interesting place. And, it’s cheap.

The loft is ready for its second round of construction, more shelves, then more shelving. I’ve abandoned my attempt to get the books properly organized as I shelve them because I need to clear space for more shelves. I can sort and organize as much as I want come fall.

My psyche has not caught up to my body’s healing pace. Though the tomorrow wall has fallen, I still find my days somewhat chaotic, not sure what to do, then what to do next. We’ve had a continuing drip, drip, drip of other matters: cracked tooth, dying boiler, Kate’s very painful back that contribute. All those seem to be moving toward resolution. I’ve even found a plumber for the generator install, a niggling thing still hanging on.

I’ll find my psyche back to its usual eagerness over the next week or two. I look forward to it.

Again, gratitude to all of you who sent notes over the cancer season. It matters.

 

 

Bless Them All

Summer                                                           Recovery Moon

I’d not even begun to read Ta-Nehisi Coates‘ new book, Between the World and Me, when I came across Cornel West‘s (picture) defense of his review of the book. I met Cornel at a Liberation Theology conference in Detroit. This was the late 70’s when all things seemed possible if we could just get organized. He was a young academic star on the rise.

Now he’s professor emeritus from Princeton in Philosophy and still teaching at Union Theological Seminary in New York. West’s critique of Coates’ work lies in Coates’ unwillingness to connect his observations to the struggle for black liberation. West is an unreconstructed black and 1960’s activist who sees all things through the prism of praxis, saying must be connected to doing. Me, too, but he’s been far more faithful to the dream.

What interested me even more than Cornel’s critique of Coates was his critique of Obama as the first black president. He used it too as an example of a place Coates was not willing to go with his analysis. I don’t recall all of it but he called Obama out on drones, the closing(non) of Gitmo, the national surveillance state, and his support of the occupation of Palestine.

Some of us follow our thought where it goes and in so doing allow our actions to be guided by the most fiery, the most pure of our ideas. West is such a man. So was King and Malcolm X. I admire all 3. They stand as bright sentinels on the margins of our culture, illuminating the path of that broad arc toward justice. Often such people can seem irrelevant, too willing to forego gains for the sake of a further dream. And that’s a fair argument, but it discounts the larger ecology of the work.

We need pathfinders, ones who can see the way forward and cast light upon it. Others can make the day-to-day compromises that actually move society forward. Without our Wests and Kings and Malcolms, our Freidans and Steinhems and Stantons, the path ahead would remain hidden, tailing off in the dark edges of the future. Bless them all.

 

Beyond the tomorrow wall

Beltane                                                             New (Healing) Moon

“The cure to boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.”  Dorothy Parker

Things have begun to change internally, too. Yesterday all my various appointments for the surgery were made. That’s all I can do about prostate cancer for now. The sale of the Andover house relieved that drag on the day to day. As I reported below, planned changes are underway around the house.

Though I do still have the holter monitor until July 3rd, I’m sure the end result of all the cardiology related tests will show me in good cardiovascular health. That leaves the question of my lower oxygen saturation when on Shadow Mountain. It’s normal at Denver altitude. My take on that. Let it be until after the surgery and recovery.

With all this positive change underway, my inner compass, the one that guides me into the next work, has begun to wake up. I’m not quite ready to get back to the Latin and Superior Wolf, but I can feel tendrils of my imagination creeping out beyond the tomorrow wall. (see 6/13 post) They’re tentative, not always formed, but I know their marks, their sign.

The most reliable of these marks and signs is curiosity. How might we seed and/or otherwise nurture native flowers and plants in our yard? Where are those books on Robert Oppenheimer and the Manhattan project? Would buying a 3-D printer for Gabe and Ruth to use make sense?

Other signs. Making notes here and there for future projects. Planning new trips with Gabe and Ruth. Looking forward to visits from friends. Unpacking the remaining boxes in the garage and organizing their contents. Getting the generator installation underway. And the bookshelves and workplaces for the loft.

The tomorrow wall still stands, but small vines have begun to penetrate it seeking nourishment beyond it.

 

 

Tomorrow’s Wall

Beltane                                                                           Closing Moon

As I wrote here before, my internal timeline comes up short, now around July 8th, does not, will not extend much beyond that. This interferes with the kind of dreaming that moves projects like becoming fluent in Latin and writing a novel forward. With no time in the future-it feels walled off-there is little incentive for the incremental work necessary to move long term projects.

This is frustrating, of course, but the effect, and probably the underlying sense behind it, focuses me on the here and now. This cancer. That appointment. This work around home that needs to get done. Stay close in to the center, don’t try to project your Self and your work out ahead right now.

I trust the anxiety when it comes, as I trust the relief from it. This is not new for me, but the oscillations have become more apparent, their purposes more clear.

Surgery July 8

Beltane                                           Closing Moon

The consultation with the urologist went well. My cancer has some outside the prostate presence, which makes the situation a bit more dire, but still one within the reach of a radical prostatectomy.

Kate and I both feel good about Dr. Eigner, the surgeon/urologist, and his experience. He’s done hundreds of robotic prostatectomies and hundreds of open prostatectomies. Practice is important.

We discussed the options, from hormone treatment to radiation to surgery. The moderately advanced nature of my cancer, my age and general health (good), make me a logical candidate for surgery. Kate and I had decided that already.

On the irrational side, I want that organ out of me. It’s no longer on my side. On the rational side surgery gives me the best chance of negative margins, a procedure in which all the cancer is removed, none showing at the tissue margins.

I feel good this evening, at peace with the choice, confident in the skill of my doctor and the support of family and friends.

A Yamantaka Moment

Beltane                                                        Closing Moon

Yama
Yamantaka

So. Today is June 11th. I feel a small hole in the pit of my stomach. Not often you meet a day when your life is at stake, but this is one of those days for me. This afternoon we’ll find out the stage (severity & aggressiveness) of my cancer. We’ll also decide on a course of treatment.

It’s been an interesting time since the initial news from the biopsy. Once I absorbed that information and read the Schwartz book on Surviving Prostate Cancer, I’ve let the matter go for the most part, at least at a feeling level. There was a bracket around the time between then, late May and now, mid-June. In that bracketed time no new information could be gained and no action could be taken.

Now that bracketed time is over and the next steps, the real choices are just ahead. My confidence level is still high. Kate’s knowledge and support is essential as is encouragement from friends and family. Dr. Eigner is competent and practiced, and, unusually, open to serious questions and probing. I’ve done my research, have a list of questions.

The appointment is at 2:30. More later.

The Organ Recital

Beltane                                          Closing Moon

Drove back from the echo cardiogram on Interstate 70, turning off at Co. 74 into Evergreen. Rock mitigation had US 285 one way and after my 4pm appointment I would have hit it at rush hour.

Instead I ate at Sushi Win in Evergreen, overlooking front range mountains, some of which looked like old shield volcanoes. Looking at them while I waited for my spring roll and sashimi deluxe, I scrolled through (in my mind) the living images of my heart that I had just seen.

Yes, for the second time this month I had a major diagnostic exam, first the prostate biopsy and now the heart echo. Noah, my sonographer, was a hip looking guy in black scrubs, spiky but neat hair and a pleasant manner. He talked to me throughout the exam.

Awe. That was my heart, beating at that moment. I could, for those 25 minutes or so, look inside my own body. Think about that. The body remains sealed, even to those who inhabit it. Looking inside is a taboo. I read a book by a surgeon who said that overcoming that taboo was necessary to surgical training.

The valves looked so tiny, so frail fluttering away in a steady rhythm, pumping my blood, taking it in from the venous return and pumping it back out, oxygenated by the lungs to the rest of the body. It’s miraculous, I said.

Yes, Noah said, that organ amazes me each time I do this. Everybody’s is different.

7-10 days from now I’ll get a call from my primary care doc, Lisa Gidday. She’ll relay the findings after Tatiana Tsvetkova, the cardiologist, reads the echo. Then you’ll get an official diagnosis, Noah said.

Not done yet, however. I still have to wear a holter monitor. I get fitted for that another time. More fun with organs.

Encouraging and Unsettling

Beltane                                                                      Closing Moon

Since I’ve begun letting folks know about my prostate cancer diagnosis, a curious and, while encouraging, a somewhat unsettling thing, too, has happened. One friend wrote, “Don’t despair. I faced this ten years ago and am doing fine.” Another, “Because of my age (80’s), I have seen more than 50 men go through this and most of them are doing fine. Many over 10 years later.” Another, “We have three friends going through this right now.”

That so many report good news obviously buoys me up, makes me feel more confident about the path ahead. I’m very glad to have personal testimony about the power of current treatment protocols.

But. I compare the general awareness among men about prostate cancer with the broader and much more public awareness of breast cancer among women and realize something is out of joint. The pink ribbon, the runs, the NFL sneakers, the celebrities have all made breast cancer information broadly available. Women are keenly aware of the warning signs, the tests for its presence and the treatment options if faced with a diagnosis.

Why don’t men have the same level of awareness? I imagine it’s a combination of things. Prostate cancer doesn’t strike, typically, until men are older. The average age at diagnosis is 66. The prostate is a less well-known organ that has a little understood function, even by men. Men have not had their feminist movement moment, so there has not been a broader cultural push for health related to men’s reproductive organs.

Men have a stoic reputation when it comes to reporting health issues. I don’t know if that reputations bears up under scrutiny, but it does serve to obscure conversation among men about health matters.

Then there’s sex. Our society has a confused, contradictory and tangled attitude toward matters sexual and the prostate is in that mix. We don’t know much about it to begin with and what we do know we don’t want to talk about.

Is it time for all this to change? At one level, yes. Of course. Just makes sense. On another, no. It isn’t happening and doesn’t seem to be happening. What would it take to create a more general and healthy understanding of prostate cancer? I don’t know.

Lucky We Live the Mountains

Spring                                                        Mountain Spring Moon

Lucky we live the mountains. Yes, Minnesota is a beautiful state, but the exurban chunk of it in which we lived and the areas in which I usually traveled, south toward Minneapolis, only occasionally reflected the wonder of the northern part of the state. There was the Mississippi, the lakes in the city, the green belt of parks. There was little Round Lake on Round Lake Blvd. That was about it. The rest of it, the beautiful part, including northern Anoka County with its high water table, marshy and wooded terrain, had to be sought out by driving.

Here the 3 mile drive home from highway 73 up Black Mountain Drive winds past a valley filled with grass and pine on the south side of which rises Conifer Mountain. To the north Shadow Mountain gradually pulls the road higher and higher, rocks jutting out, ponderosa and aspen dot the slopes and mule deer sometimes browse. Each morning when I go to the mailbox to retrieve the Denver Post Black Mountain is on my right, guarding the west and the eventual sunset.

Anytime we leave home, whether to go into Evergreen for our business meeting or into Denver to see the grandkids or south toward Littleton for medical care mountains and valleys, canyons and gulches grace the roadways. Small mountain streams run next to the roadways, swift and right now, often violent. Walls of sheer rock alternate with wooded mountainsides. Always the journey is up or down until we get past the foothills onto the beginning of the great plains where the Denver metroplex takes over.

This was my thought while driving home from the doctor yesterday. How short is a human life span. Not even a tick of the second hand to this rock. These mountains have been here for millions of years longer than the human species itself has existed. They will probably be here millions of years after we’re gone. What is one lifetime? What is a few years here or there? Compared to these. This was a comforting thought.

Wasted Years?

Spring                                                Mountain Spring Moon

Wondering about retirement, about the third phase, not from an abstract notion of this journey now, but from within it, on the path. I notice things like this. A weather blog I follow talks about the decadal oscillations (Atlantic and Pacific) that have a determining effect on drought patterns in the U.S. When the author says these may not change their influence until 2035, I quickly calculate. 92. That means I may live in the forest fire red zone knowing only drought conditions.

Work. I commented here about work, about Latin and writing, gardening and beekeeping as work. And it’s true that I experience them that way. When I call them work though, I sometimes find myself confused. Am I retired or am I working? Yes seems to be the answer. Perhaps I need a new paradigm.

What came to me as I wrote that last sentence was the Hindu notion I mentioned a while back, action without attachment to results. From within that idea it doesn’t matter, working or retired. Both. The doing, the acting carries the meaning, not the end. Related I think to the idea of the journey as the destination.

Yet, I admit that the culture comes up inside me, makes me wonder about the wasted years, all that time since leaving the church, now 25 years. What have I done? Which really means, of course, besides being alive how have you contributed to the world? I was taught, in that it’s obvious, it’s the way it is manner that culture defines for us, that work means results. A man is his attachment to results and the results make the man.

Results mean new law, building affordable housing, organizing citizen based power to balance philanthropic concentrations of wealth and to alleviate the pains of vast unemployment in Minnesota. Those were results a man could claim and in claiming lay down evidence as to his worth.

But. What if the novel doesn’t sell? What if the effort to market work is so weak that it never really has a chance? Does that invalidate the writing, the patience, the persistence necessary to conceive, execute, revise? Then, if the action does not have the expected result, does it come crashing down on the man, rendering him less a man?

Some days it feels like the answer is yes. If there is no book on the shelf with my name on the cover, then I am less of a man. If in writing, I have taken energy away from the political work which gave me tangible results, then I have contributed less than I could have. Have I allowed fear to dominate my marketing work over the last 25 years? Fear that I would be rejected time and again. Possibly. Does that erase the novels and short stories I have written? Or, to put it in the most blunt way possible, has it called into question all the “work” I’ve done in the past two decades and a half?

Some days it feels like the obvious answer is no. What is the result of loving a woman? What is the outcome of raising a child? Where is the success in a flower bed or a dog? All these most important actions rely not on the actions of the man, or at least not solely. Loving a woman does not make her a better woman, does not create an achievement. Raising a child, though important, does not make the child. Children make themselves, influenced no doubt by the parent, but still, the responsibility is theirs. The same with grandchildren. Flowers and vegetables grow, too, again perhaps aided by the gardener, but it is their task to produce a bloom or a fruit or vegetable. Dogs live their lives in the orbit of the humans who love them, but their life is the result and who can claim ownership of life itself?

Another angle. The taking in of knowledge, developing understanding, all the reading and attending to cultural artifacts like art, theater, chamber music, movies, what does that amount to? What is the result, the thing that matters? Is there any point to it all?

Not to mention that I have made almost no money for the last 25 years. Not none, but not enough to count.

As I write this, see it laid out on the page, though, I’m inclined toward compassion, toward acceptance of the man who has done what he has done with as much energy and passion as he has, a man who has stayed faithful to his wife, his son, his stepson and his family, dogs, gardens, bees, who has remained constant in following his inner path regardless of the outcomes.

Bill Schmidt’s find of this poem says what I feel better than I express it myself:

Love after Love

 

The time will come

when, with elation,

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door, in your own mirror,

and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

 

and say, sit here.  Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine.  Give bread.  Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

 

all your life…