Christmas Letter 2010
Christmas Letter 2010
Dear Friends,
It is my custom at this time of year to celebrate with my friends by giving them the gift of self — to share with you some of what the last year has brought for me.
Frankly, I am very surprised to be writing this letter at all. Last year I didn’t think I would make it to this Christmas — but you never know. If I had to name the year that’s ending, I would call it the year of change and anxiety.
After I mailed last year’s Christmas letter, I learned that my Pater Seraphicus, Weaver Stevens — my teacher, mentor, spiritual guide, priest, analyst, and friend — had passed away. Weaver was one of the major forces that shaped who I am, and I miss him deeply. I am grateful for his writings, the videos we made before he retired from the priesthood, and most of all the memories, guidance, and wisdom he shared with me.
The greatest compliment I ever received came from him over twenty years ago. I had asked whether he thought I should try to become a priest. He thought for a moment and said, “YES — but you need to know that you will never get through. But you will be a wonderful experience for the Seminary.”
He felt my theological ideas were things most modern seminaries could not handle — but needed to be exposed to.
Death also visited my home this year when I had to have Linda’s cat, Samantha Fox, put down. The doctors couldn’t tell me what was wrong, but she was old and very sick. This loss led to one of the big changes in my life. The day after Samantha died, I adopted a new cat and named her Fontine. A few days later, at the pet store, they told me about her timid sister — so frightened they feared no one would ever adopt her. So I adopted her too. Her name is Eponine.
So now I have Cosset, Fontine, and Eponine at my house — and we are all getting along wonderfully.
In the fall, I had a big boost in energy and was able to do a lot of yard work and replace the top of my deck. In the summer, I visited Los Angeles for my sister Susan’s ordination to the diaconate. She is now one step away from the priesthood and will take that step in January or February — finishing the journey I started but was not able to complete.
In August I took a cruise with my folks from Seattle to Alaska and back. It was a wonderful time.
Those were the changes. The anxiety came on the medical side.
The good news is I did not need surgery this year and I’ve managed to go almost a year without using my cane. But I’ve had several false alarms with cancer — skin cancer, testicular cancer, breast cancer — all ruled out. Still, many scans and tests show I have cancer, but nothing operable or treatable at this point. The whole-body scan showed very little uptake, but the PET scan showed some.
That might sound like good news, but it means the cancer that responds to radiation is almost gone, while the kind that doesn’t respond is still there. The cancer is shifting from the type seen on the whole-body scan to the type only visible on a PET scan. I keep reading that once cancer makes that change, life expectancy is about three years — and mine started that change two years ago.
I asked my cancer doctor what she thought my prognosis was. She said she believed I’d live at least five years.
OH GOODY.
The PET scan also showed a “hot spot” in my distal esophagus.
And here’s some good news for the American Medical Association: the definition of surviving cancer is not what most people think. It doesn’t mean living to be 70. You only have to live five years after diagnosis. If you die the day after five years, the medicos count it as a win. That’s one reason they want to find cancer early — it helps their numbers.
So, in January, I will officially have survived five years.
As for my neurological problems — my condition is deteriorating slowly and frustratingly. In the spring I had a burst of energy and was able to do quite a bit. But I also noticed changes in the way I walked, and my shoes were wearing unevenly, showing that I wasn’t lifting my foot correctly. I finally had to get new shoes, which helped.
In April, during my afternoon walks, I could maintain a pace of around 4 miles per hour. Today, most days I don’t have the energy to walk at all, and when I do, I can barely maintain 3.25 — and not as far. My energy level keeps dropping, and I’ve started getting sick two days after each treatment. The first time it happened I had to go to the ER. My doctors are still trying to figure out what’s going on.
Well, that has been my year. I have no idea what to hope for in the next one and am taking things one day at a time.
I want to thank all of you for your support, friendship, prayers, and for being you — my friends.
And as Tiny Tim said, “God bless us, everyone!”
Love,
Odell
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