Archive for March, 2007

Hospital – 31 March 2007

31 March 2007 at 4:21 pm · Filed under Cancer, Mantle Cell Lymphoma, My Treatment, News, What I'm doing today...

While this probably won’t be posted until I’m discharged, I’ll write something.

I feel hot, sweaty and a bit crap. I was admitted yesterday at 3pm, and by 10pm I was febrile and had a urinary tract infection (probably), which made urination painful and bloody and very urgent. Blood cultures overnight, and today, and so on. I started on IV antibiotics this morning. The consensus is that it is best to press on with the methotrexate, which is the colour of Passiona soft drink. I’ve had one two-hour flask, and am now about half-way through a 24-hour flask. I had a chest x-ray this afternoon too, but I doubt there will be much on it. I don’t feel like I have a chest infection, and certainly don’t have a productive cough, or in fact any cough.

Hospital is OK, except that the methotrexate is making me nauseated, so I don’t have much appetite today. I had a milkshake for lunch, which was much more palatable than the roast turkey (yuck). Tea still tastes good.

The haematology registrar, Michael, seems good. He’s thorough, friendly, and approachable. There is a slightly odd consultant, Max Wolf, who seems disinclined to actually communicate with me, so I am disinclined to communicate with him. Which makes it fun when he comes in for rounds. He pretends I’m not here, I pretend he’s not, which makes him notice me and want to communicate. Not that there’s much to communicate about.

I’ve been praying the office, which punctuates the day, and keeps me mindful. I haven’t been able to meditate today – too tired and not recollected. I will try later. We’re finishing up the eschatological section of Luke’s gospel in the morning readings, and are almost at the Passover in Exodus. Readings has us working through Hebrews, which is always slightly obscure. I should use NIV to read it, and think about it a little deeper.

Because I’ve been sick I haven’t had the opportunity to join with the oblates in Sydney in spirit as I was planning. I have been thinking about them, though, and I know I’ve been held in prayer and silence through their day and mine.

My nurse just came in to give me some eye-drops before the Ara-Cstarts, some Maxolon, and more sodium bicarbonate. I begin to slush…

My hair is falling out. Hair on the head, and my beard. I’ll see how much goes, but if I look too patchy I’ll shave the beard off. Or perhaps I won’t need to!

Peter visited this afternoon. He had been to an in-service on lumbar pathologies – he seemed to really enjoy it. He was very tired though, so I sent him home early. He said the dogs binged on chocolate (which was safely put away) yesterday, and then vomited it up, which meant he came home to a mess. They apparently both slept with him last night. He has a first-aid refresher course tomorrow in Moorabbin – I hope that goes well.

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Back in hospital tomorrow

29 March 2007 at 8:07 pm · Filed under Health, My Treatment, What I'm doing today...

I go back into hospital tomorrow for five days, and it seems likely that I’ll be out of internet communication during that time. I organised a pre-paid dialup account, and a phone card to use in order to access said account, and it seems that the phone card won’t dial the dial-in number! This is mildly frustrating, but in the large scheme of things, not serious. I can continue to write these things and upload them when I get out of hospital.

This cycle of chemotherapy is methotrexate and cytarabine, with some folinic acid to reverse the worst effects of the methotrexate. I’m also having rituxamab as an outpatient.

One of the main things about hospital, for me, is being bored. When I was in last time I didn’t feel sick enough for time to pass quickly. I read, watched stuff on the computer, and so on, but time did drag. I’m a poor sleeper, too, and the combination of the routine, the noise, the light and the bed meant I didn’t sleep well. Drugs are available for that, of course.

I suppose being in hospital is a good opportunity to chill a bit. Read, write, pray, study and so on. I took lots of books I didn’t read last time – perhaps I’ll read more this time.

Getting organised to go into hospital is a challenge. There is the normal sort of organisation – enough socks, underpants, pyjamas, and that sort of stuff. Then there is getting things done before I go – writing the letters that won’t be done unless I do them now, paying the bills, writing emails, organising contingency plans in case I’m too sick to do things when I get out. Then there’s organisation of stuff that I can’t do because I’ll be in hospital. This chiefly relies on a friend, Marj, who is being so generous with her time, energy and patience. She will baby-sit our dogs while Peter is away on Tuesday and Wednesday, because when they went to the kennels last time it cost $200 for 3 days. Ouch. I’m sure they would prefer being at home with Auntie Marj in any case.

My oblate brothers and sisters in Sydney will be meeting while I’m in hospital on Saturday, and I’m hoping to be able to carve out time to spend in unity meditating and praying with them. Sunday is Palm Sunday, and I’ll go to the Eucharist in the Peter MacCallum chapel (unless I’m IV-free, in which case I may see if I can escape and go to St Peter’s Eastern Hill).

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Mahatma Gandhi

27 March 2007 at 9:16 pm · Filed under Heroes

gandhi-time.jpg
I believe in the fundamental Truth of all great religions of the world. I believe they are all God given and I believe they were necessary for the people to whom these religions were revealed. And I believe that if only we could all of us read the scriptures of the different faiths from the standpoint of the followers of these faiths, we should find that they were at the bottom all one and were all helpful to one another. – M K Gandhi

Because of the odd way that history was taught during my primary and secondary school careers, the first I ever heard of Mahatma Gandhi was the 1982 film. I was in year 8, and my mother decided that she would buy tickets and take us to the cinema to see the film. I remember it very clearly, and remember the impact both the film and the man had on me. I don’t think I had a particularly protected upbringing, but I was unaware that there was such injustice in the world, and that it was possible for people to be discriminated against purely on the basis of who they were – the colour of their skin. The notion that a system of racist and classist institutions could perpetuate and protect discrimination was very confronting too. I was also struck by the power of Gandhi’s philosophy of non-violence and non-resistance. If I’m truthful, it was also the first time I was hit by the notion that the culture I come from was violent, and not superior to others.

Gandhi is a hero for me because he strove to live truly, honestly, simply, and tried to make a difference by virtue of his convictions. He lived as he believed, and the integrity of his life shone out. As a real person, with appetites, aches, pains, desires, hopes and aspirations, he speaks to me and provides me with the example of a brother who has trodden the way. Would that I could live with the same integrity.

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Anglican Turmoil

27 March 2007 at 2:21 pm · Filed under Anglican, Gay, The Church

Stained glass window

The Anglican Communion is a voluntary association of churches which trace their origins back to the Church of England, and which maintain a relationship with one-another through the Archbishop of Canterbury, presently the Most Rev’d Rowan Williams. I’m a member of the Anglican Church of Australia, which is part of the Communion. Anglicanism has historically been a diverse set of expressions of Christianity, with many strands of theology and culture running through it – I fall into the more liberal and catholic end of the strands, but am proud that my undergraduate theological education was at an evangelical theological college – it has stood me in good stead and given me an appreciation of other ways of being Anglican and Christian.

The Anglican Communion is in a state of great turmoil right now, and has been for at least the last ten years. The reasons are manifold, but if I were to summarise them as I see them they would include (but not be limited to, and I accept other peoples’ lists would vary from mine in emphasis and content!):

• A clash between theological liberalism and conservatism
• A clash between centralism and decentralism in leadership and governance of the church
• Differences in how the Bible is interpreted, how authoritative interpretations are arrived at, and how changes to church life can be based on such interpretations
• The role of women in the church, predominately in the ordained ministry
• The role of homosexual people in the church, whether or not there is a place for the non-celibate gay person in ordained ministry, and whether gay relationships can be sanctioned in any way, or even blessed

My own positions on these issues would be unsurprising, and the following is a brief sketch upon which I’ll elaborate in time. On women in ministry, I believe that there stands no Biblical or other impediment to women being ordained to all orders of ministry. I believe that the Bible is a document inspired by God, but with cultural overlays that need to be understood and factored into interpretation. Because it is a document made up of various texts from different times and places, we need to understand those when seeking to work with doctrine and theology. I believe that gay people are loved by God, made by God as they are, and have the capacity to function at all levels in the church. I would argue that gay people should seek sexual fidelity in their relationships, just as heterosexual people should, but to deny us those relationships seems to me a denial of a source of truth and grace from God (at least, that is how my relationship has been for me).

A significant development happened in the life of the Anglican Communion in February, when the primates (most senior bishops) from each province (usually a national church) met together to respond to some of these issues. By all accounts it was a difficult meeting, at the end of which a communique was produced, along with a draft covenant. For those of us hoping (but not expecting) more, the communique was disappointing. It essentially sought to ensure that the Episcopal Church does not continue to proceed with further ordinations to the order of bishop where the candidate is gay, and to ensure that no further sanctioned blessings of gay relationships occur. There was little in the communique for gay people – little comfort or offering of hope. I would characterise the document as an exercise in exerting power with the desired end of a sort of unity. What sort of unity, I wonder? Unity borne out of fear seems to me not to be terribly worthwhile or consistent with the call of God to unity. The document displayed little compassion. All such documents are compromises, and it would be interesting to know how the development of it proceeded.

I realise, well, that for many of my sister and brother Christians the ‘gay issue’ is vexing, troublesome and a distraction. I receive no real joy from the whole thing, I don’t like the fighting, and I wish we could get on with following Jesus more closely instead of endlessly debating these things. But I ask you to consider the pain of exclusion, the pain of being compared to murderers and paedophiles, and the pain of needing to consider that the person you are is a symbol of disunity and conflict for so many.

Time for a cup of tea.

(Here is a letter I wrote to the Primate of the Anglican Church of Australia, the Most Rev’d Phillip Aspinall, and the Archbishop of Melbourne, the Most Rev’d Phillip Freier. Both Archbishop Aspinall and Archbishop Freier have responded – Archbishop Aspinall with a most pastoral and engaged letter. Archbishop Freier’s response I found less helpful.)

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Suicide is never painless

27 March 2007 at 10:28 am · Filed under About Me

Brian

The title music from MASH, “Suicide is Painless”, is a lie.

In Australia, due to repressive laws passed by the current Australian Government, writing about suicide and reading about it can lead one to being prosecuted. The laws mainly stop descriptions of how-to methods, which is not what I’m seeking to write about today, in any case. There will be some people who won’t want to read this entry, because it may bring back painful memories for them, of their own experiences with the terrible blight of suicide.

My younger brother, Brian, took his own life in June 2005, at the age of 32. He was survived by his wife and three step-children. I remember the day very well, and in fact the moment when I was told Brian had died. I was at work, the day was messy and busy, and out of the ordinary. Unusually, I wasn’t carrying my mobile phone with me, and was going from place-to-place. When I did get back to my desk there were missed call indicators on my mobile, and a number of voicemail messages on my office phone. I don’t think words can explain what it is like to hear the voice of a senior police officer telling you that someone you love has died, and to hear anguished messages from people you love or at least know wailing to find you. Peter, who was at the time working with me, and I left work and travelled to my parents’ house, about 3 hours away. My father was away, in Queensland, visiting my brother David, so apart from neighbours and my aunt Mandy, my mother was alone. I don’t remember the trip down very well, except that I spent a lot of time on the phone trying to work out what had happened. I spoke with Brian’s wife, Kim, and was reassured that she and her children were OK.

We arrived at my parents’ home, and time started. My mum was being looked after by my aunt, but was in shock, as were we all. Neighbours were standing outside, shocked, horrified, and mute to know what to do. As were we all.

Days passed, a funeral happened, what other tiny bits of information that were forthcoming became known to us. There was no note, no last message, no indication of why. To be sure, there were some small signs of odd behaviour, but according to those who had been closest to Brian before he died, no real warning sign. He had had some trouble at work, but nothing insurmountable.

Brian’s death caused a fracturing in the relationship my family have with his wife and her children. Even before his death it was difficult, and there was some distance, but afterwards the issues seemed to grow, the walls become higher and the offerings to speak, to help, to care less acknowledged. My parents keep in a kind of tenuous contact. My brothers don’t, and nor do I. I feel ashamed that I don’t, and I did intend to. When I ask myself why there are two main reasons – the first is that too much time without communication went by. My fault. The second is that Brian is what we had in common. And with Brian gone, I’m not sure what there is left. I should make the effort to renew a contact.

I miss Brian each day, and doubt that the sense of loss will ever go away. Brian was enigmatic, troubled, funny, generous, gregarious and loving. He was probably depressed and felt hopeless – but we can’t know. One of the larger regrets of my life is that in the last three months of his life we were out of regular contact. We had been much closer, but things intruded, and distance entered. Whenever I think about that, I wonder if, had I been speaking with him more regularly, I would have seen signs, or heard pain, or been able to defuse a situation. How much did I fail him?

Ultimately, what Brian did was make a choice to end his life. I think it was a bad choice, because no matter how bad a situation, no matter how much trouble a person is in, there is always help. Always. It makes me sadder than I can say that on a Friday morning in June my brother could see no help, no way even to extend a hand for some, and so, he died tragically, violently, alone.

Those of us who remain try to choose good things to think about. We speak about Brian, remember him, but there is a vault of loss at the centre of our lives.

In Australia suicide is the leading cause of death among young men. Be aware of the signs, extend a hand, and don’t feel as though you have no right to ask how the person is doing. If you can, consider doing a mental health first aid course.

And love and care for those around you.

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