Book review: "Reason in a Dark Time"

I've wanted to do a review of Dale Jamieson's Reason in a Dark Time for a while. (Besides, it will make a change from the personal posts.) Subtitled "Why the struggle against climate change failed, and what it means for our future", this is not a feel-good story about international efforts to stabilize the climate.  Instead, Jamieson tells the story of the period from the Rio Earth Summit (1992) to the Copenhagen conference (2009) as a tragedy: a narrative that, starting with high hopes, has now, thanks to the flaws and mixed motives of the participants, ended by "locking in" a level of global warming above the threshold that they had originally decided they must avoid.   As a philosopher, Jamieson wants to ask two questions: What made this tragedy inevitable?, and What resources do we have to move forward from here?

Halfway mark

Perhaps I need a few more different meds...

We're approaching the half way point for my treatment and I'm beginning to notice some side effects.   Not that I don't have plenty of medications to reduce the side effects.  And medications to counter the side effects of those medications.  (I don't think I have yet advanced to the third order of medication-indirection.)

News from the Chemofront

Radiation machine

We're about 30 percent through the chemo/radiation regime here and I wanted to post an update on how things are going.

The first thing to say of course is that as far as success or failure in actually treating the disease is concerned, no-one can say what's happening.  We're not attacking a substantial tumor here which one might see shrinking: we are looking to eliminate invisible microscopic bits which might have been left behind even by the marvelously skilled surgery that I received in April.  So, no news (and let's hope that is good news).

So what I'm more focused on right now is the side effects of radiation (sores in the mouth, difficulty swallowing, stiffness of muscles) and chemotherapy (nausea, taste changes, sun sensitivity) and how well I am managing them.  And in that respect the news is good so far.  I have some sores starting, but I am still enjoying my food and actually gaining a little weight (I am under instruction to load up now because it may be harder later) and the pain is managed well by Dr Quon's drug regime.  And I have had no chemo-related nausea yet.  Thanks, Zofran!   (Even though you make me constipated.  In fact, pretty much all the meds seem to have that effect...)

Apart from "eat plenty and healthy" the other instruction I received was to keep exercising and that I've managed to do so far.  There is a gym with cardio and weights on the Hopkins campus - intended for staff, but long term patients like me can get access.  I've been there regularly and the other day was able to make it out to an Earthtreks climbing wall as well. So that seems good news.

And I am beyond blessed by the cherishing care of my wife Liane.  When I get confused or frightened or angry, her wisdom and love are like a refreshing drink of cold water on a broiling summer's day.  When we made those "in sickness and in health" vows back in 1986, we meant them: but somehow I hadn't really thought through what it would mean to be the person who receives the cherishing, the sick one, the needy one.  We so like to think of ourselves as strong, don't we?  Well, sometimes we're not.

For the future: I've had an easy start, and I've met a lot of people who are in a much worse place than I.  I expect the next couple of weeks will be harder than these last ones have been, so keep me in your thoughts and prayers (if you pray).  I so much appreciate all the messages of support that you've sent via Facebook or email or whatever.  They touch my heart.  Thanks a bunch!

Another Adventure

Liane and I are off to Baltimore tomorrow for me to begin radiation and chemotherapy at the Sidney Kimmel Cancer Center at Johns Hopkins.   Treatment will be every day for several weeks, and we are privileged to be able to stay at the Hackerman-Patz apartments which are right next door and are intended for those who have come from far away to receive treatment at the Center.

I can't help thinking of old Bilbo Baggins: "I think I'm quite ready for another adventure".

I'm not altogether sure that I'm ready for this adventure, but, ready or not, here it comes.  I'll post a few updates to this blog.  I'm hoping to keep the regular material going too (right now I'm thinking about an analysis of the "Solar Roadways" video which many friends have reposted...)  Meanwhile, I find myself chewing on the words of the Heidelberg Catechism:

Q. What is your only comfort in life and death?
A. That I am not my own, but belong — body and soul, in life and in death — to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ.

Wanted: a theology of mining (part 5)

"Brotvermehrungskirche BW 3" by Berthold Werner - Own work. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons.

This morning I was reading in Matthew's gospel the story of Jesus' miraculous feeding of five thousand.   Matthew locates this sign directly after the death of John the Baptist: after the banquet which Herod gives  (which turns out to be no celebration for him but a feast of shame and death), Jesus is host at a different kind of meal, showcasing a different sort of abundance...

When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place. Hearing of this, the crowds followed him on foot from the towns. When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick. As evening approached, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a remote place, and it’s already getting late. Send the crowds away, so they can go to the villages and buy themselves some food.” Jesus replied, “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.” “We have here only five loaves of bread and two fish,” they answered. “Bring them here to me,” he said. And he directed the people to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Then he gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the people. They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over. The number of those who ate was about five thousand men, besides women and children. (Matthew 14:13-21)

After Diagnosis

Someone told me that your life splits into B.C. and A.D.   That's Before Cancer and After Diagnosis.

That's a tad melodramatic for me.  But the moment after diagnosis really is one when, all of a sudden, the world looks completely different.  Suddenly, going on with life as usual is no longer a possibility.  The default option is no longer an option.

Of course I still do have an option not to accept treatment.  I could say that the side effects seem too unpleasant, or that getting treatment shows a lack of faith, or indeed that the medical establishment is just out to make money by tormenting its patients.  But declining treatment would not magic me back to the world B.C.

No, even though cancer treatment is scary and unpleasant - even though it is full of uncertainties and probabilities - even though there is a huge amount we don't know - the right thing for me to do is to follow the best advice I can obtain, to take this journey through chemo and radiation.  Once I understand that the default option is no longer an option, it becomes clear that treatment - the fear-laden, disruptive option - is the right option.

The ancients made an analogy between the microcosm (the human body) and the macrocosm (the whole planet).  Seems to me that regarding human-caused climate change and environmental degradation, the macrocosm is also living in the period After Diagnosis.

The question is whether we are able to accept and act on the claim that "the default option (business as usual) is no longer an option."   Will we take the scary road to treatment?  Or will we keep trying to wish ourselves back to B.C.?

Notes

A couple of other pieces making the same analogy at greater length:

• What to do with what we know, Byron Smith
• No option, David Goldstein

Image from Wylio.com

Health update

Life on the edge

It's the fourth Sunday after Easter.  Cranmer's collect for this week is one of my favorite prayers:

O ALMIGHTY God, who alone canst order the unruly wills and affections of sinful men; Grant unto thy people, that they may love the thing which thou commandest, and desire that which thou dost promise; that so, among the sundry and manifold changes of the world, our hearts may surely there be fixed, where true joys are to be found; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

It's also two weeks since Liane and I learned that I have cancer.  An operation on April 28th removed a carcinoma of the parotid gland - that is one of the glands in your neck, below your ear, which make saliva. The operation will be followed up by radiation therapy and chemotherapy, which will begin on June 2nd.

Life can change in a moment (a true "point of inflection").  And yet where true joys are to be found does not change.  They never were in the now-threatened future accomplishments, the memorials I might dream of building.  They are hid with Christ in God, in his eternal present.

I'll mingle some updates and information about how I'm getting on with the other reflections on this blog.  I hope that will be okay for readers: of course, feel free to skip the more personal stuff if you don't know me and/or it is TMI for now.

Grace and peace

John