#COP25 Sing in support of the conference aims from this threefold pamphlet

On the opening day of #COP25 Five Climate concern hymns and a children’s song formatted to produce as a threefold (A4) sheet. All are written to tunes that will be familiar to church/ chapel musicians and many choir leaders. I was delighted to have a Buddhist comment favourably on the language used at Friday’s Silent Rebellion meditation in Cambridge’s (UK) Grafton Centre.

The words of the separate hymns or the song will be more easily copied from this version of the song set posted a short on this blog a short while ago

All the hymn words and the song are (c) Trevor Thorn but you are welcome to use them as widely as possible to promote climate concern anywhere.

CANCER 3: Last Radiotherapy session – and now another wait!

The photo series within this post tries to capture some of the most significant markers of the time since I was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins Lymphoma in early October 2016. Let’s explain the picture before I invite you to hear something of  my journey through chemotherapy, then radiotherapy. (in CANCER1 and CANCER 2 - Links at bottom of this post)

The somewhat strange mask may only be recognizable to others who have experienced radiotherapy targeted at the throat, chest and other locations in the top part of their body. The mask is moulded to the contour of the face – and in my case to the shoulders as well. It is done by immersing a flat plastic sheet in hot water which is then dried and pressed down over the head, neck and shoulders. If you look carefully round the edge, you can see some of the nine pegs that are pressed down to keep one perfectly positioned and immobile on the treatment ‘bed’, so that the radiographers can be sure that the residual cancerous cells left after the chemotherapy are precisely targeted. An amazing part of an even more amazing equipment array where the treatment takes only a couple of minutes each day (for 15 consecutive weekdays in my case, though some have much longer spells of treatment). It does feel somewhat claustrophobic, but the staff  have been constantly caring, compassionate and ready to explain what is going on throughout.
It is, when undergoing this treatment, disturbing to think about children who might have to endure such a process but I was told of one of the radiography team who realised that decorating the children’s masks with their favourite cartoon character could make the experience far less fearsome. Good to hear she received a hospital award for her thoughtful inspiration - and I leave you to imagine smaller masks than that in the photo above, decorated as Spiderman or Anna/Elsa from ‘Frozen’.

This ’Scientist in Congregations Certificate' represents the ‘Sing of God and Science’ project I have been organizing,  throughout the period of treatment. It has been a splendid distraction from what is going on with me internally. More about it later.

The small display mounted around the orange painted ball represents our sun and its planets, so representative of one of the topics that motivates me to write creatively about faith and science.

Much of the material for this blog, which, in bursts, consumed a considerable amount of my time, seeks to encourage people to see faith and science as twin revelations of the glory of God in his universe. A link at the bottom of this post will explain this more.

Splodging acrylic paint on to the football-sized sun was another short term but enjoyable distraction for a couple of afternoons!) 

Pam and I often talk about her enthusiasms being for the beauty immediately surrounding us and mine being for the beauty in the far reaches of the universe. We are not quite that polarized! The small flower display above celebrates an astonishing bounty of blossom and flower that has emerged rapidly, day-by-day, as we have visited the hospital throughout April:A true blessing.

Finally, here is our photo. Pam has been a magnificent carer since the cancer was diagnosed and has worked hard to ensure I don’t over-reach myself. One of my regular prayers  throughout this time has been for those who have to make this journey on their own: it must be harrowing. The photo was shot during our joint breakfast celebration of the end of radiotherapy and our 36^th wedding anniversary. We have looked for little ‘treats’ like this through the treatment period and they too have been a real blessing.

But now another period of waiting. This time some 6 to 10 weeks, being the period that will ensure inflammation from the radiotherapy does not get interpreted as a residue of the cancer when I have a further scan which may, if we are fortunate, end the treatment, though we inevitably don’t know if that will be how it will be.

More or less whenever there is a conversation with another cancer patient, the subject of waiting comes up. Most accept that there is an inevitability of having to wait for consultations to happen: blood needs to be tested, weight needs to be assessed before the consultant can commit the patient to the next treatment, normally the next day. But it is often the waiting between treatments and for subsequent assessments that make the experience tiring and even distressing for both patient and (where relevant) carer alike.

How will we feel tomorrow/ three days time/ next week/ a month’s time. One cannot know, so something of every affected life goes ‘on hold’. For those who experience some of the worst side effects these can be gruelling times. For everyone, they add to the air of uncertainty of whether cure will be the outcome or its dreadful alternative. Facing the latter needs all the help, compassion and bravery that can be mustered: knowing that others are praying can be hugely helpful as it has been for us. But never easy, and MacMillan, chaplaincies, hospices and other services do magnificent work in this area and themselves deserve support and prayer.

My path, so far, has been an easy one compared to many of the stories we have heard and I daily give enormous thanks for that. For this reason, I have minimized the writing I have done about the cancer, so as not to discourage those who are suffering far, far more . So, by way of just a minor example, losing hair for a man is really no big deal these days; for women it must be so much more difficult. But there are many patients for whom we can only pray and offer a listening ear, whilst knowing that the mystery of healing is beyond us to understand and may be a gift to many, but not to all. It is particularly difficult to have any idea what to say to children and their parents caught in this cycle: undoubtedly, something deeper than ordinary wisdom is needed.

For me, one of the things that has unquestionably helped has been to recognize the gifts and blessings that have surrounded our path, many of which are hinted at in the photo-montage. Broadly these have been;

Knowing just how hugely we have been held in prayer by friends, family and many of the Christians we have encountered in a variety of ways, some apparently quite superficially. We have realized over and over again what an extraordinary fellowship, this world-wide fellowship of Christ, truly is.

Being deeply thankful for each other as we travel.

Being immensely thankful for our surroundings, a comfortable home, a nurturing community and the massive gift of being very close to Addenbrookes, so travel to and from the hospital is minimally difficult compared to that of many.

Noting the changes of nature around us as we have moved from winter to spring. That itself has brought hope, and the changes in the last few weeks are nothing short of magnificent. We have, perhaps unsurprisingly, been more acutely aware of them than ever before.

The involvement with the ‘Sing of God and Science’ project has been enormously helpful. The cancer charities all recommend finding or taking up an interest that can be a diversion from the illness and its symptoms. ‘Sing’ has been extraordinary in doing just that. We have now gathered more than 30 songs for singing in school assemblies or all-age worship, a publisher in the offing (we hope) and enormous enthusiasm from a very wide range of people who have become involved with the project in many, many different ways. Nine schools have contributed original songs and we are now looking forward to the performance of those songs in our Cathedral in nearby Ely at the Science Festival in late May. Pam, illustrating her ongoing deep concern for me, remains anxious that I will be fit enough to enjoy the day: this is one of the manifestations of the inevitable anxiety a spouse/ carer can feel. Overall, the project has been a huge blessing (though Pam would also say a tad obsessional at times!) for which I give repeated thanks.

Finally, I want to close this lengthy piece with a tribute and our profound gratitude to all the staff at Addenbrookes in Haematology, Oncology, Radiotherapy, and the Pharmacy - both medical and administrative staff. You have been unfailingly magnificent; courteous, caring, concerned, amenable, helpful when our needs were different to yours and watchful of those needs. Thank you all so much. We have seen small glimpses of the pressures you are under and we know of some of them through the media. Without exception you have managed to avoid passing any stress on to us and we are very, very grateful.

CANCER 1: Can be found HERE
CANCER 2: Can be found HERE

CANCER 2: Shock, Puzzlement and Prayer 2/ Gossamer Spectrum

Written in a week in which early treatment made me realise that cancer treatment needs considerable patience – and I suspect is going to be a preparation for series of several similar waiting times as I move into a Chemotherapy regime.

If you have read the post 'Cancer 1', you will have seen there was one late shock as the respiratory doctor bowed out, handing us over to the oncology/haematology team. He admitted he had thought that he was going to be telling us I ‘only had weeks’ when he had believed I had lung cancer: but with it being a lymphoma, there is a good chance of ultimate recovery (although it would usually be referred to as ‘in remission’), both reminders of our mortality and vulnerability. Interestingly, Pam had already intuited that the respiratory doctor had been thinking along those very bleak lines, whereas I had been naively thinking in terms of a few years. So, in this, a sharp reminder of just how hard this sort of path is for a spouse or a partner who truly cares for their ‘other-half’.

Now, over to the oncology clinic and a minor shock of a different kind. The clinic was awash with people of all adult ages and stages: young women with scarves on their heads, elderly folk looking battered and scared, middle aged people with multiple tattoos and rings (Oh dear! I really do need to take a check on my prejudices! I’m going to be sharing facilities with many of this group for some long weeks ahead); Addenbrookes Hospital treat 4000 new cases every year! But in all of this we realise again just how fortunate we are to be so close to such a well resourced hospital and also realize how often this disease visits much younger people: people who have to balance their treatment with demanding jobs and people with children to tend to and cope with the children’s fears as well as their own. A prayer-in-every-chair, it seemed to me.

Thankfully this week of waiting is not one of complete inaction. In order to get me as well prepared for the chemotherapy as possible, I was put straight on to a daily dose of steroids and in just a few days that has brought relief from the presenting symptoms of acute coughing and low energy. Two mile walks have suddenly become practicable (delightful to walk by the river again) and my appetite has improved significantly: the wonders of modern medicine! More to be thankful for.

But the other part of this week is the not knowing. I guess most of us find that one of the hardest times of life. When will the chemo start? Friday or next week? How to plan this weekend; how will I react to the chemo? How necessary might the emergency card I’ve been given be – am I really likely to succumb to a sepsis? How will my appetite ebb and flow, if it does? Problems for Pam and me to share and another pause to reflect on what a lonely road this must be for single people to tread.

Then there is the literature – a folder full of several books mainly from cancer charities and SO-O-O much information to try and take in. How difficult for the not-particularly articulate? And hiding in amongst all that, a recommendation to take up or revive a hobby to give purpose to the possibly gruelling way ahead. This for me, not difficult: I will continue to pen as many verses as I can – and that, I will enjoy unless my brain is so addled, which I understand happens to some chemo patients. Another unknown.

So one of the lessons has to be to live each day for itself and rejoice in those that are good. One night, the steroids (I assume) woke me suddenly in the early hours. An opportunity to edit a seasonal poem I jotted in the previous week and once again in thanksgiving mode, I end this journal-style entry with it. We immensely valued the prayers – thank you again to so very many of you.

Gossamer Spectrum

Sun emerging from an autumn mist

slants across fine gossamer weavings

that bedeck the window pane.

The angle of the shafts of the sun

and the seat from which I gaze

Is accidentally perfect;

for each near-parallel thread

glistens with

an exquisitely fine spectrum.

A Spider’s overnight endeavours

delicately revealing the complexity

of our star’s life-giving, visible rays,

and I give thanks.

It is not my intention these journal-style entries should become frequent bulletins: I will try to record only the more significant times – and in between simply share some of my more ‘normal-style’ poetry with its usual 1 to 3 week frequency.

You can read the start of this journey (Cancer 1) HERE and the third part (Cancer 3) HERE 

CANCER 1: A Profound Shock, a Puzzle and a Prayer for Healing.

Sunrise in the mist across the fen

from our bedroom window, 

taken by Pam, my wife on a day needing hope

The Shock

At the end of September 2016, our world was upended and we were left in dreadful shock . A protracted cough with accompanying breathlessness lead to a series of scans and a diagnosis that I had Lung Cancer – treatable but not curable, said the doctor: terrifying.

Thankfully, a further investigation (bronchoschopy with biopsies) revealed that the condition was not Lung Cancer but Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. So, still a cancer necessitating chemotherapy and probably other treatment, but, we were told by the medics, and through friends telling us of other peoples’ experiences, that this is both treatable and curable. We were left waiting to hear when treatment would start, slightly less shocked than we were originally but with an underlying sense of relief, that there is hope extending beyond just a few months - or even, just weeks.

As we reflected on the uncertainties we faced, we had to recognize that this personal awfulness is little compared to that faced by brutalized people across the world: for those of of Aleppo, those desperately risking crossing the Mediterranean and literally millions of oppressed people across the globe. With Addenbrookes hospital only half an hour away, we are, by comparison, mightily, mightily blessed – but we are, nevertheless, inevitably anxious about what the future might hold for us.

As well as having this remarkable medical facility close by, we were greatly comforted by the assurance of prayers of many, many friends, both here in the UK and abroad and we give grateful thanks to them all for that very special support.

The Puzzle.

We know from other people, and are now experiencing it ourselves, just how hard it is amidst such uncertainty and upheaval, to pray for ourselves – it feels as if we are simply letting our many friends shoulder that burden. I know in the past we have suggested to others that is something God entirely understands, but it still has a puzzling sense of not easily being able to ‘play our part’ in this outpouring of other peoples’ compassion and love. Even though we have, over many years, been involved in the ministry of healing and walked alongside others who have been suffering in a variety of ways, this aspect still feels a puzzle. However, as I lay awake one night through a somewhat ‘dark watch’, an idea occurred.

Prayer for Healing.

I would find it difficult to ‘batter’ God with pleas for a restoration to health.

But I have, since encountering it through a talk by the late Bishop Simon Barrington-Ward, (former Bishop of Coventry) been fascinated by the many possibilities there seem to be of using ‘The Jesus Prayer’. I have written elsewhere on this blog (links below) of using the Prayer in its traditional way of being a preparation for prayer and of framing it as a confessional prayer. At a wholly different, and some might think, a trivial level, I have found it a great comfort at times I have not been able to sleep. It bathes that time in prayer and is immensely more helpful than counting animals jumping gates! (at least it is for me). As I moved into that cycle of petition last night, I realized the prayer could easily accommodate an extra phrase, which would readily reflect my present condition. So I tested it,

            Lord Jesus Christ,

            Son of God,

            To whom the sick cried out for help,

            Have mercy upon me, a sinner.

As with the whole of the original prayer, in praying it, we are joined with the complete nature of Christ, his deity and his love and it seems to me the extra line highlights his compassion and draws us into that particular aspect of our Saviour’s love as we repeat the prayer. The Jesus Prayer is, as observed by many, a way of moving closer towards St Paul’s otherwise difficult injunction (for many of us) to ‘pray at all times, without ceasing’ (1 Thessalonians 5.17). So, with each repetition, I remind myself of the healing power of the Saviour and by implication call on Him to help me – and all those others who need his succour. (In the form I have written this above, the new line, in italics, is historically correct: some may prefer to frame the line in the present tense.)

So, perhaps others may find this a way of bringing their awkward feelings about self-focused personal petitions into Christ’s presence and if this proves helpful, then I will be glad.
Trevor.

Other entries about The Jesus Prayer on this blog: The Jesus Prayer as a framework for confession and The Jesus Prayer Illustrated

The second part of this journey  (Cancer 2) can be viewed HERE
and the third part (Cancer 3) can be viewed HERE