Keep The Faith

A few weeks ago, I wrote wishing that time could slow down a bit. I still want that. I want to recognize each day for the gift it is. Some blood results and a doctor visit last week has me thinking that I just might get some “extra” days to practice getting better at that. Here is the good news update. Protein markers for the cancer are as low as they have been since October '22. This treatment is working! Not only is it working, but further clinical trials on the triplet of drugs I receive each week, reveal that the average time the treatment remains effective (known as “Progression-Free Survival) is longer than initially expected. Months longer. Perhaps, for me, long enough to bridge to the approval and funding of the next wave of new drugs known as bi-specifics. We will pray, with thanksgiving, for that. We will try to treasure each day. Thank you for your prayers.

I think i t’s a universal first-world experience: the desire at different stages in our lives for time to just slow down. Nichole Nordeman sings a song called Slow Down 1 in which she recognizes and laments how quickly her child is growing up and she deeply wishes that that part of life would pass by with less pace. We know the feeling. As I enter the last week of Cycle 7 2 of my current chemo, Kathy and I reflected on how quickly time has gone since we started this, the third treatment protocol, on Dec 8, 2022. Almost six months! Three of those months included the cutting edge immunotherapy drug Isatuximab. Slow down! We know that each successive treatment protocol will likely be effective for a shorter period of time than previous protocols have been. We know eventually there will be, as a doctor stated it, “no more bullets in the gun.” We know this disease is terminal. Slow down! It's all too fast!  May 16 marked five years since we began our myeloma journey. We are #thankful...

There is a short phrase in the Easter story that caught my attention this year: “...but we had hoped…” These words from Luke 24 were spoken on the road to Emmaus and they are filled with lament from those walking that road.  Sadness that things had not turned out the way they thought they might.  We had hoped. Words that appear in the very same chapter as the impossibly joyful words, “ He is risen !” And while I believe and rejoice in the Jesus resurrection, it's those words of lament on the Emmaus road that often surround us these days. We had hoped.   With all of you, we had hoped that there would be less suffering and war in the world and that refugees could find their way home; that our cities would be less violent and their vulnerable populations could flourish; that environmental injustice would end; that the Church would reclaim it’s witness to the unending love of our risen Saviour … We had hoped. Jura Creek near Canmore, 2023 In the life that Kathy and I walk, we...

 A few summers ago, we had a surprise encounter with an out of province couple that we had rubbed shoulders with regularly in the 2010s. Of course we defaulted to the standard icebreaker question, "How are you doing?" Rather than give us the rote icebreaker response, she paused and said,  "That's a complex question. I have learned to ask people, 'How are you doing today? ', and today I am doing alright."  As we learned the back story, that response made sense. She and her husband had tragically lost a young-adult son and they were on their way to the place of his death to mark that somber anniversary. "How are you doing?" in that context is a very complex question. I'm know all of you can relate. Life is complex. Keeping the faith is hard. Aside from its use as an icebreaker, "how are you doing?" has anwers as nuanced as life itself. There are so many layers. For Kathy and I, life is lived in the context of God's relentless l...

I replied to a recent comment on this blog that “we all live our lives on a fault line.”  Perhaps I should have said, “on multiple fault lines.” Fault lines between lament and joy, between faithfulness and drifting, between hope and despair, between… Kathy and I  have once again, this week, found ourselves squarely on one such fault line. On one side is hope-draining discouragement and on the other side is a reliance on God’s promises. After more than 2 months of advocating and many prayers said by friends and family, I was scheduled to finally begin taking a new, unfunded drug on Feb 23. Not long before my appointment in the treatment room, I received a call that the new drug had not arrived at the cancer centre. A clerical error had been made and it had been decided that I would need to wait another month for Isatuximab to join the chemo battle. Another fault line. One where we experience tremors originating from what we know about how quickly my cancer gains strength. On ...

A friend recently commented that when I wrote about chemo medications there was a lot of “ mibs and mabs. ” It’s true. I’ve previously taken Bortize mib and Ixazo mab and others. My current medication is Carfilzo mib and after a few months of waiting, wishing, advocating and praying, I will finally start receiving Isatuxi mab on February 23. With the reality of the new drug now less than two weeks away, I am doing some of the obligatory reading about receiving Isatuxi mab . As I do this, there is a nagging voice that is likely familiar to all of us, “Be careful what you wish for.” Isatuxi mab , like most of the mibs and mabs, has page after page of potential side effects. It is a frightening list. As a cautionary step my doctor will be prescribing a handful of additional meds until we know what the reactions will be. I have been scheduled for extra time in the treatment room for each of the first four weekly infusions so that I can sit there and be observed. Immediate help wi...

A second post this week feels a bit like I am spamming you, but I know that some of you, perhaps many of you have responded to my prayer requests regarding access to a chemo drug called Isatuximab. We heard late this afternoon that the drug company has allowed me access to the drug on a compassionate basis and that details are being worked out with the Cancer Centre in Red Deer! We are so #thankful. The drug company that has granted this compassionate access is called Sanofi Genzyme and the commercial name of the drug is Sarclisa (though in the treatment rooms they will only use the actual drug name--Isatuximab) Thanks to all of you for your support and prayer.  The book of Isaiah spoke to a nation but as an individuals, thousands of years later, we also find comfort in these words from Isaiah 41:10: So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.