At 8:30 am this morning Nick, a kind nuclear med technician at Littleton Adventist, swabbed the crook of my elbow and took a needle from a lead-lined box. It contained radioactive isotopes of calcium. Makes sense for a bone scan. With a quick, painless insertion he sent the isotopes into my blood stream. Took thirty seconds.
“Come back at noon. Drink 32 ounces of water. Be sure to use the bathroom before you return.” I did that.
Kate and I left at 7:20 am. There was a heavy fog on Hwy 285 going downhill. It struck me as an apt metaphor. This time between the discovery of my rising PSA and getting data about the cancer puts me in, as I said yesterday, a cloud of unknowing. Today we traveled through it, paying attention, careful attention to brake lights, possible crashes.
The bone scan will lift a bit of the fog, make the path from here a bit more clear. But. The CT scan was not approved yet. Ironically, I stopped at the Post Office on the way home to pick up a certified letter. It was the denial of coverage from New West physicians for the axumin scan. Out of the fog into the fog.
Nick had me remove my belt, all the metal from my pants, my glasses. I could leave my shoes on. Hearing aid? No, the machine won’t bother it. I laid down on the slide, a curved piece of metal. Would you like a warm blanket? Yes. (This would prove to be a mistake.)
We velcro your arms to your sides. That way you don’t block the scan. Oh. The straight jacket like cover went over the warm blanket. Are you claustrophobic? Yes. Hmmm.
This was the mistake with the warm blanket. Since as near as I can discern, my claustrophobia came into existence during time spent in an iron lung as a toddler, heat makes it worse. The claustrophobia comes when the box like device with the screen attached comes down within an inch or so of the nose.
It’ll be there for about four or five minutes. OK. I’ll close my eyes.
So here’s a very human anomaly. That scanner scared me more in those five minutes than that which it sought to find. Cancer. Weird. I held it together, but there were moments when my muscles tightened and my stomach clenched. Also, I had this urge, a strong urge, to open my eyes. Which I did a couple of times. And quickly closed them.
After the seventeen minutes in which the scan covered my body, Nick said he’d go see the radiologist. He might need other shots. He didn’t.
I thanked Nick for his kindness. Well, we try. The folks that come to see us are not having a good time. I’m not. And your kindness made this part easier. I didn’t say, but I could have, I’m driving through heavy fog right now.
Nick assured me that the radiologist would read the scan right away and that it would be ready by late afternoon. That’s in time to inform our appointment with Dr. Gilroy tomorrow. At least we’ll have some data.
I come from a long line of mothers. So do you. This thought always strikes me as strange. Think of how many things had to go right for you to exist. Sure, there’s that whole randomness of the sperm that crosses the finish line, but think historically, think evolutionarily, think all the way back to that first organism that took the lightning bolt or the warmth of the undersea vent. Whenever and however life first appeared. Your existence, and mine, means we exist in an UNBROKEN chain of reproduction from that first wiggler, that first animate entity. One after another after another after another, for billions of years. Maybe 4.1 billion years according to 
Go now, the workshop has ended. Paraphrasing the end of the Catholic mass. Appropriate in this case having just come Mother Cabrini’s shrine. The experience of being at Mother Cabrini was familiar in its physical surroundings. In college I would always retreat to Catholic sanctuaries to be still, to reflect. I always found them/find them, soothing.
Here are two examples of next steps that have me excited. The first is to do a dialogue with reading. In the dialogue section of the journal, orange tabs, there is a method for developing one to one conversations with people important to you, living or dead, fictional or actual. That seems to makes sense. But the other four tabs in the orange section: Works, Events, Society, and the Body perhaps not so much. It works though. The journal method posits that a dialogue can be had with work you’re doing. I wrote a dialogue with Superior Wolf and in it realized I needed to pull the novel apart and focus one story only on Lycaon. In the Body section I’m in the midst of a dialogue with cancer.
It’s a bit strange to be at May 10 and have the temperature at 24, snow covering the driveway, the roofs, the walkways. In Minnesota the safe time for planting was typically May 15. Don’t think it would work here, at least not every year. We warm back up next week. For now, though. Winter wonderland. Like, I wonder why it’s still winter?
Read yesterday in the group. Iam asked me afterwards if I was a professional writer. Well, I write novels. But, I’ve not sold any so I don’t know if I’m a professional. Drina, who works for a website connected with the founders of 
We wrote spiritual steppingstones, what experiences in our life have led us to our current spirituality. Those of you who know me know that it’s been a long journey. An ongoing one, too. I would characterize my current spirituality as a tablespoon Taoist, two tablespoons existentialist, a teaspoon Christian, a teaspoon and a half Reconstructionist Jew, and a half cup of paganism (of the earth, the sun, the starting of the universe, aware of it and finding it enough). Mix together and bake until dead. Then, we’ll see.
Michelle is a mussar friend. Her husband has prostate cancer, too. Already metastasized. Leslie, also a mussar friend, has had her breast cancer reemerge twice. I mention these because it underlines that cancer is probably in your circles as well. Yes, treatments have improved life expectancy and some prevention efforts have helped, but cancer itself, in its multiple manifestations, continues to be an agent of Azrael, the angel of death.
Second, he’s not giving up his central purpose, to push climbing as far as he can, because it might kill him. Neither should we put any part of our life on hold because we’re going to die. Yes, cancer puts that right up in your face, like climbing free solo, but it does not control your response. If you’re brave enough to say with Alex, “No, I’m not going to optimize the length of my life,” then you’ve found a platform firm enough to withstand whatever existential threat comes along.
Back to mussar yesterday. First time in quite a while. It was a gift, as was the minyan for Debra Copes’ mother’s memorial the night before.
Being away for a while makes me more aware of these moments. Yet Debra wanted me at her mother’s minyan. She did a universal worship service which consists of lighting candles for Hinduism, Zoroastrianism, Christianity, Buddhism, Islam, Judaism, and a general candle for other witnesses to the divine. Rabbi Jamie said, at a meeting a couple of weeks ago, “This ex-Presbyterian understands Reconstruction better than anybody else around this table.” Around the table were key leaders of the synagogue.
The Jewish approach to death, too. Sitting shiva with someone after a death. Having those in mourning stand and be acknowledged during the mourner’s kaddish at every worship service. Celebrating each year the yahrzeit, the year anniversary of a loved ones death. Calling together a minyan as Debra did for honoring her mother. Those who knew it, repeated the mourner’s kaddish from memory. A vital and key part of maintaining community, acknowledging that the dead live on, not gone, just absent.