June 13, 2006 - Day 7 - Week 10 - The Reality Hits Hard

All week I have been writing about chemicals, children, cancer, and concern.   Taking excerpts from a book I wrote almost 14 years was a reminder that the past can and does inform the present.  In a very real way this happened when I walked into the Angeles Clinic to get a shot; one of those big ones that sting as the medicine goes in.

I was jovial as I arrived.  Shorts on, sun out, feeling good I was up on the balls of my feet and ready to meet the day.  And then I saw him, my friend of three decades or so.  Sitting slumped down in one of the lounger chairs was Father Joe, and he looked like he was 80 years old - we are peers.  The smile was broad and genuine on both of our parts, but the sobering reality that something was terribly wrong made me forget why I had come to the clinic.  I sat down and he told me his story.

He immediately related he was in his second run through of chemo therapy because his colon cancer returned, with a vengeance.  As one of my favorite Catholic priest friends began to tell me how, and in his own words, “the cure is worse than the cancer,” his cell phone rang. I was left to ponder what he had just said.

Father Joe was animated  because it was the skin doctor and he had been anxiously waiting for the call.   Father Joe was covered in a rash that made his life miserable.  The lesions on both hands and face were referenced by him as well and he exclaimed, “pardon the image Peter, but when I look in the mirror I feel as though I am seeing someone at Dachau.”  For a second time in the space of just a few minutes his comments made me pause.

Before I could digest what I was hearing from a formerly vibrant, funny, bright Catholic priest and educator, Nellie arrived with my shot.  Bing, bang, in the arm and she was off to the next patient.  I like my medicine quick, if I have to have any and Nellie is quick.

I always close my eyes when I am stuck with a needle.  In the crook of the arm, in the shoulder, or in my hand, it makes no difference, I close my eyes. It seems to take the sting out.

Father Joe and I have been friends since I arrived in the Palisades in 1974.  Our paths have crossed many times, yet here we were, united in a different way, and for some magical reason relating at a very personal and intimate level.  We chatted for almost an hour about the church, health, diet, and feelings about having a challenging illness.

He wondered why I looked so well and even requested of the nurse to discover whether I was typical or not of the patients she sees undergoing chemo therapy.  Nellie explained that most people tolerate my particular regimen quite well.  I explained it was probably the seaweed and sea vegetables; we all laughed.

Father Joe asked what he could read.  He has been wrestling with colon cancer for 3 years and has realized that he must become more pro-active in his own recovery.  Colon cancer can be nasty.  I told him of the book Super Foods and my fledgling cancer diet. We agreed to email and I sat down to take his hands as I said goodbye.

I must admit that my 35 years as a priest has placed me in all sorts and conditions of situations, many dealing with life and death, but today tears welled up in my eyes as I sat with this struggling friend.   My voice quivered as we agreed to reconnect face to face shortly.  There is much I can learn from Father Joe, both as it relates to life in general, and specifically how faith, spirituality and prayer play a role in dealing with cancer.  No meeting is ever chance in life, each connection has a purpose.  We agreed to hold a good thought for each other.  Hold an extra one for Father Joe.  He is one heck of good man.

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