Light in the Cancer Darkness

Yesterday was Richard's every-two-week check-up with his Oncology doc, Dr. Catherine Klein. Dr. Klein is  Chief of Oncology and Hematology at the VA Medical Center, but you'd never know it by her manner. She comes to the waiting room herself to fetch us. She listens. She's unpretentious and thoughtful, with a wry sense of humor.

"How are you?" she asked. It wasn't a pleasantry: she scanned us carefully in turn as we answered.

Richard admitted to increasing fatigue: "I'm napping more and more often."

She nodded her head. "Fatigue is normal. What we're doing to your body with the radiation and chemo tires you out. Napping is good."

Once we were seated, she swiveled to the computer screen to look at his most recent blood test results from after he had completed his first two weeks of treatment. "You're doing well," she said, clearly pleased as she explained that his white blood cell and platelet counts are normal.

Richard wanted to know what his most recent MRI looked like, particularly the traumatic swelling in his right temporal lobe that caused him to hallucinate birds at the beginning of this journey with brain cancer.

"The two sides of your brain don't look the same--the brain surgery changes things there," she said. But the edema was essentially gone, she added, and there were no signs of new tumor growth.

"You're looking good," she said. "Keep that up."

After the appointment was over, we threaded our way through the crowded lobby of the VA Medical Center hand-in-hand, uplifted by the news. (So uplifted, in fact, that we forgot to go to the pharmacy to pick up the next batch of his chemo drugs and had to come back later. Ah well.)

We want to thank you all for your support. It helps immeasurably as we struggle to keep up our spirits, keep Richard healthy, and do what we need to do to nurture ourselves through this time in the cancer cloister. (That's Molly above, sending a message of love from her computer at work--how sweet can you get?) This is not a walk in the park, any way you look at it. But it could be much, much worse, and your expressions of love and support contribute in positive ways.

That's why I'm going to ask you a special favor: This coming Monday, December 21st, is winter solstice, the shortest day of the year here in the Northern Hemisphere. That day marks not only the return of the sun's light and warmth, but also a personal milestone, the halfway point in Richard's radiation treatment for brain cancer.

For more than a decade, Richard and I have celebrated the passing of winter's longest nights and the turning of the Earth toward light and life by lighting the darkness: lining the sidewalks on our block with dozens of luminarias made of paper bags, plus some sand and votive candles.

At dusk on solstice, we invite family and friends to help light the luminarias one by one. The tiny flames in their translucent bags burn through the night, heralding the sun's return at dawn. It's a ritual that touches us deeply. As I wrote in my weekly commentary:

Holiday lights are meant to illuminate, a word that means "to light up," and also "to explain, make clear, elucidate." Light alleviates spiritual and intellectual darkness, bestowing knowledge and understanding.

As I strike a match to light a wick in the chill of solstice dusk, and place a flaming votive candle on its bed of sand, I think about the lessons luminarias teach. The bags by themselves are flimsy and flammable, the candles too small for robust light, the sand simply grit underfoot.

Yet together, candle, paper bag, and sand combine to illuminate the darkness: each slender wick feeds liquid wax to fuel the flame; the paper walls shelter the flame from wind and snow, and their very flimsiness diffuses light; the sand grounds the bag and prevents the flame from incinerating the paper that protects it.

Inside their flammable shelters the candles burn steadily, hour after hour, through the darkness of a long winter night. When dawn comes, the ethereal lamps are still glowing softly, demonstrating the extraordinary resilience and beauty inherent in the simplest of materials.

Luminarias show us the power of simple gestures. These tiny lights illuminate our metaphorical darkness as well, lighting the way into a new year. Richard and I won't be able to hold our luminaria celebration this year, because we're in Denver for Richard's treatment.

What's the favor? If you feel so moved, light the darkness wherever you are. All you need are some slightly-larger-than-lunch-bag-size paper bags, clean sand, plus 12-hour votive candles Fold the rims of the bags over once to hold the bag open, and put a shovel-full of sand in each, along with a votive candle. At dusk on Monday, set your luminarias on a non-flammable surface, light them, and think of Richard and me.

As those tiny flames flicker and glow in their translucent bags in the darkness of that longest winter night, Richard and I will turn our faces to the star-spangled heavens and send our our wish:

May Richard be whole. May Richard be healthy. May Richard be happy. May all beings be whole, healthy, and happy.

And our spirits will glow, lit by the support of those we love and the commonplace grace of small candles burning in simple paper bags.

Blessings to each of you!

Comments

[WC Holmans]

Surely sounds as if things are looking up, Susan T! Looking forward to glowing reports.

Willie C

[Jinni Turkelson]

Susan, I'll be on a plane from Chicago to Stockholm on the 21st to spend Christmas with my son and daughter-in-law. Since it's an overnight flight and I don't sleep on planes, I will think of you and Richard and pray your wish for health and wholeness. I think you already have happiness.

Have a wonderful Christmas.

Jinni

[Laura]

Matthew and I will be at Treebones down south of Lucia on the Big Sur coast on the night of the solstice. I will pack candles and bags--I'm sure we can find sand... and, since it is a new moon, perhaps some stars and passing whales as well.

[Martha in Texas]

Yes! A wonderful idea. Thank you for the invitation. I have all the fixin's just needed a little prompting to engage in this fine ritual. I shall light 9 candles in the spirit of the law of octaves (the 9th keeps the prosody rolling); the spirit of the Maya and other indigenous traditions that like this number, too. Indeed, let your light shine.

[Susan J Tweit]

Willie C, We're hoping for those glowing reports. He's halfway through radiation as of this morning, and in mid-January, he'll be all the way through and we can go home to continue his chemo. Going home will be really good....

Jinni, Have a wonderful trip to Stockholm, and thanks in advance for your in-air prayers--perhaps broadcasting them from 30,000 feet in the air will mean they travel farther! May your holidays be full of joy.

[Susan J Tweit]

Oh, I'm so glad to hear you're going to Treebones with Matthew, Laura! We've always wanted to go there, but never had the chance. Enjoy the stars and passing whales and the company. May the passing of winter's longest night mark a passage into a joyous and rich year for you....

Martha, trust you to add cultural detail I hadn't thought of! Thank you for the reminder about nines in music and in Mayan and other indigenous culture. I trust you'll write about that, too.

[Lindy Barnes]

Dear Susan and Richard,

On the evening of the Solstice my husband, Doug, and I will light a small fire outside in our little fire pit (this is our Solstice celebration) here in the desert. We will sit by the fire, drink a little warm mulled sweet wine. We will be thinking of and talking about what is important to us: the health and well-being of our families and our friends both near and far, those close to us and those we know distantly. We will be thinking of and praying (in our own way) for you, Susan, and especially for Richard. You have touched many of us deeply with your sharing of this difficult journey. You have given us all the gift of sharing and have taught many of us how to share more fully. For this, speaking for myself, I thank you.

Namaste', Lindy

[edurado]

Richard and Susan,

For at least a couple of weeks, I've been pondering y'alls luminarias; specifically wondering how they'd happen, this winter solstice. Wondering, now, whether enough of us locals(/locos?) will be able to gather to do at least a short portion of y'alls walk.

Since I'm impervious to cold (did I mention, "loco"?), perhaps I'll simply have a candlelight vigil, instead.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, how many upliftings for healing does each lit candle represent?

Let's find out together.

[Mary Marino-Strong]

Richard's health news is so good - to have a normal white cell count and platelets too, with just some increased fatigue is a great gift in spite of the circumstances. Yeah! Love the picture of Molly - I get a special feeling about her, a special young woman.

No sand here, don't even have paper bags! But candlelight, a prayerful wish and loving heart remembering you both will be yours on Solstice, and after. I'm even writing it in my calendar to be sure I can't possibly forget.

hugs, Mary

[Anna McCarthy]

Good white blood counts is fabulous. So important. So good. Arbol de la esperanza mantente firme .A great roble.... One of the spotted visitor entrances was through an enlarged woodpecker hole. Industrious creatures those non- mephitis animals. Last time they worked the drain pipe exit in the kitchen. They should be the national animal. So resourceful and industrious....No dirty sand for the luminarias? Onward.

[Susan J Tweit]

Lindy, Bless you! You draw a sweet picture of you and Doug sitting by the fire in your firepit, drinking a bit of mulled wine and toasting the solstice by sending out your good wishes to friends and family near and far. Thanks for including us in that ritual, and thank you for attending to what I'm writing. We never stop learning....

Eduardo, Whatever you choose to do, whether candlelight vigil or luminarias--you could do your walk!--will send "upliftings" out in our direction, and we'll be grateful.

[Susan J Tweit]

We do indeed feel lucky, Mary. Today Richard napped all morning, but then again, yesterday I think we walked three miles around downtown and the Denver Art Museum, where we went to ogle art as he thinks about his own work. So he ought to be tired today. Thanks for being with us on Solstice.

Anna, thank you for calling up a tree image for Richard--robles are some of his favorites, too. As he has an affinity for wood as well as rock, trees are lives he pays close attention to. So the woodpeckers have been aiding the skunks in shimmying into your house, eh? Skunks are resourceful and industrious, and when you know them without their powerful spray, they're beautiful too.

[Deborah Robson]

I love the luminaria idea. I've been around them, but have not often lit one. It may be a new experience (or one I can't recall, if it's not, so same difference--!).

We have sand, and probably bags, and the wrong kind of candles. Task for tomorrow: gathering.

[Anna McCarthy]

There is a roble growing out of a huge rock by the Eel River where I walk when it is nice. I talk to its silhouette and have a good thought for you both: If it can split the rock and make such a good tree, you can both be well.

I don't understand the analemma: We have, according to my astrological almanac, had three more minutes of light since the 10th here at the end of the day -at 40 degrees -but are going to lose another 20 minutes (?) in the morning till the beginning of the year. Left me confused about the meaning of the Solstice. Perhaps you know. Meanwhile I dye merino/mohair sock yarn a very nice blue: 20 % red orange and 80% blue.

[Susan J Tweit]

Deb, luminarias are one of the most ethereally beautiful kinds of lights out there, as long as it's not windy or raining. (I can't imagine the latter, but the former is possible.) Thanks for being willing to experiment with them!

Anna, your roble splitting the rock by the Eel River sounds like one of those trees with great power. That simple roots can split rock--slowly!--has always amazed me. Persistence rules! On the solstice: it's the date when the sun reaches it's maximum southward tilt (here in the northern hemisphere) but because Earth's rotation isn't symmetric, the latest sunset occurs before it and the earliest sunrise occurs after it. It's still considered the shortest day of the year for reasons that elude me. The sock yarn sounds luscious--happy dyeing!

[Carolyn]

Susan, What good news about the white blood count! I just returned from NJ and will light the luminarias here in Santa Fe on Monday at dusk for Richard and you. Carolyn

[Susan J Tweit]

Welcome back from NJ, Carolyn. I hope that you're settling in and resuming writing and sitting practice. Thanks so much for lighting luminarias for us--light from Santa Fe at this especially spiritual time is a real gift!

[Linda Peterson]

No sand here and no time/energy for gathering. But I do have tea candles and NPR. So I will light my candles this year with you and Richard in mind, especially, as I follow my little 2-decade ritual of listening to Paul Winter at St. John the Divine for the Solstice Celebration.

Good blood counts is such good news--as are hours in a musueum. Yesterday was the half-way point for the cloister, yes?

OK bound early Wed. Back on Sun. Oh boy!

May all be well, Linda

[Susan J Tweit]

Bless you, dear Linda! I love the idea of you listening to Paul Winter via NPR from St. John the Divine on Solstice. Yesterday was half-way through the radiation days, but not halfway through the whole cloister experience. Radiation doesn't happen on weekends or holidays, so this week is only three days and the next too. That means we're in the cloister until January 12th or 13th. Travel well to OK, and get in lots of niece and nephew love!

[Alice Trego]

Susan, even though you and Richard won't be able to witness your yearly tradition of lighting luminarias, be assured in knowing that the light will be there in Denver with you as a mainstay for Richard's journey to healing.

I will be traveling, as well, on Dec. 21, and not able to light luminarias, but will think of you both as the Winter Solstice makes its presence.

Alice

[Cindy Salo]

MIW,

As an apartment dweller I'd better stay away from fire. I'll leave my living room Christmas lights on all winter solstice night this year, and every year, for all my loved ones going through a dark time. What a wonderful tradition; thank you for adding it to my life (in addition to everything else you've added)!

xxoxoxo
Cindy Bee

[Anna McCarthy]

I found it: Look up the equation of time and you will find many things which I am likely to understand better tomorrow and which will explain the time sunset/sunrise thing and the solstice. Here we have rain for which we are so grateful. No luminarias but I have a lovely La Milagrosa candle. Luminarias were so fun in Santa Fe.

[Susan J Tweit]

Alice, May your travels go well, and many thanks for your thoughts and your support!

Cindy, I hope your apartment, lights and all, is a lovely and warm refuge for you through the holidays. Don't forget to make time to write--often.

I'll look up the math behind the solstice, Anna, though I may have to get Richard to explain it to me, since he speaks math and I don't. May your Milagrosa candle be a powerful one for us all, and may the rain continue to bless your robles and all of the other wonderful plant-people in your landscape!

[Mary E. Trimble]

Susan, my Christmas prayer for you and Richard is peace,contentment and good health. Your approach to Richard's health is wholesome and good, providing the right balance for his continued progress toward recovery.

[Page Lambert]

Thank you to all who continue to gather around Susan and Richard. What a blessing is the light that shines from each of these comments!