Getting stronger

I just realized that I have not reported on my health condition in a while.  

My last “full” treatment was on March 12. As I have mentioned in a previous post the proton machine was inoperable for several days, so my treatments did not resume until March 18. I was scheduled to have 30 full treatments, and then the last three were to be smaller treatments called boosts. They were of shorter duration and gave me only two blasts of protons where I normally had three blasts. 

Since the last three were lighter treatments, I really did not have any more full blasts after March 12, so I have had over two weeks to begin the healing process.

I was thrilled when the mouth sores abated and I could enjoy eating once again. It had a been a chore to chew and to even talk at times during my treatment. During this past week the big glob in my throat has diminished, and some of my taste buds have returned, so I am enjoying tasting food once again. 

During the treatments I had to maintain the same weight as when they measured me for my mask and did the scans to set up the doses of protons. I had a surgery in November, then it was Thanksgiving. I had a surgery in December and then it was Christmas time. And all during these recovery times I was not getting any exercise, so I gained 10+ pounds. I was planning on getting it off as soon as the holidays and my recovery period was over, but then, alas, the medical team told me not to lose any weight. All this to say that I am no longer having milk shakes or ice cream every day, and I hope to lose that weight soon. 

My energy level is improving each day, and I am enjoying taking on some chores on the farm that have been neglected for the past five months. 

Since my immune system has been compromised Cheryl and I have refrained from seeing any people—including family members, much to my disappointment.

The next step is to have a follow up visit with my surgeon, but I am not in a hurry to see him while all this virus mess is still brewing. My radiation oncologist’s office will be scheduling another PET scan in June.

I am grateful to you who are reading this blog and so many others around the world for your prayer support and encouragement over the past five months. Thank you! 

Hearing and listening

When Emma, one of our twelve granddaughters, was in kindergarten she was the only child in her class who could tie their shoes. Her teacher was very impressed, and she asked Emma, “Who taught you how to tie your shoes?” Emma quickly responded, “I just taught myself.” There was nothing unusual about that conversation, but later Emma said to her teacher, “I taught myself to talk!”

Over the years I have whispered “papa” in the ears of our grandchildren beginning in their infancy, and many of them have whispered “papa” as one of their first words.

Tonight, we were on FaceTime visiting with Allison and Will’s children. Pete is 17 months old, and it seems he understands everything—OK, most everything—but he is not talking yet. I was drilling Pete whispering “papa” over and over but to no avail. Cheryl even tried getting him to say “papa”—I think just so I would stop trying to bug the boy every time we get on a video visit.

Most parents are eager to hear their child start talking. However, many parents are not too concerned about what their children hear in their home.

A few years ago, Cheryl told me numerous times that I could not hear well. I disagreed with her—imagine that—but in the end I decided to do something about my hearing. I was just completing my annual physical and I asked the nurse if they had the capacity to give me a hearing test in their office. She said that they did and showed me to a very small room where they did hearing tests.

When I finished the hearing test, I was anxious to know the results, so I asked her how I did. She replied, “Mr. Cox, you have perfect hearing.” I said, “Can you repeat that?” Well, I didn’t really ask her that, but it is funny anyway. I did tell her that I could not wait to get home to tell my wife.

Upon arriving home, I told Cheryl, “Guess what I had done at the doctor’s office today? I had a hearing test, and the nurse told me I had perfect hearing!”

In an instant, Cheryl replied, “Then something is wrong with your listening!” She got me…

It is true that we don’t listen to everything that we hear. Hearing is one of the five senses, and we hear many things that we don’t understand. Listening is a communication technique that lets us understand, interpret and put meaning to what we hear.

I don’t know how many times when our kids were growing up that I would ask them, “Did you hear what I said?” If I was as smart as I am now, I should have asked them, “Did you listen to what I said?”

Kids of all ages are hearing everything and listening to most of what we say.

Lord may all our words be kind so that when others are listening, our words will be pleasing to You and edifying for those around us.  

Encourage

What a time we live in! Who would have dreamed two months ago that a submicroscopic infectious agent that can only replicate inside a living cell of an organism would turn the world upside down? 

Some of you are hunkered down with family members, but Cheryl and I are unable to have anyone in our home at this time because my immune system has been compromised. 

Yesterday Jeremy and Darby drove up to run some errands for us. They bought feed for the animals and a few grocery items. It was so hard not to hug them or get close to them. We did virtual hugs, but that did not help the heartache of not being able to touch them. 

I have not been a fan of social media, but now we are using it more to stay in touch. Cheryl has been on FaceBook for years, but she is one of those who just reads and never responds (so don’t expect to hear from her!). I am a stalker—I look over her shoulder to look at pics of our grandchildren. Most grandkids aren’t into blogs. They want something shorter and more instant gratification. So, recently I set up an Instagram account—again to keep up with grandkids and what is going on in their lives. (LarryCox354) We have a family group set up on the ap called Marco Polo, so we love sending video messages back and forth. You can create silly messages using weird voices. OK. Some of you are thinking that radiation fried Larry’s brain! Remember that we have 15 grandkids so I don’t mind acting like one of the preschoolers. 

FaceTime has been a wonderful tool for many years for our family as we have been so separated by oceans. It would have been so great to have had such technology when we lived in West Africa where our only communication was snail mail, and this was truly the pace of a snail as it took 3 weeks for an air letter (described in a previous blog) to get to us. To help you understand how little technology was available at that time, when we left Burkina Faso in May 1987 I had only seen one personal computer at a USAID office, and our mission office in Ouagadougou had just bought its first fax machine. 

But we have all these wonderful devices and software available now and I believe that God would be pleased with us if we were to use all this technology to encourage one another. This morning I called a few church members just to encourage them. I think it made them feel better and it surely made me feel good. Cheryl called some widows in our church earlier this week. Those were important connections with the family of God. 

While you are encouraging family members and church family, don’t forget to pray for those who are still working to provide electricity, gas and water for us and for those who who are providing other services such waste disposal, transportation of goods, stores which are providing us with food and supplies, and on and on. 

Don’t forget the first responders. Our son-in-law, Jeff, is a firefighter and his twin brother, John, is a police officer here in Rome, Georgia. Jeff is also an EMT so he is the first contact at most emergencies and cannot keep from getting in the face of victims. Pray for these women and men who are keeping us safe. When you have the opportunity, encourage them, buy their meals if they are in the drive-through, take some homemade cookies by the police station or fire hall. 

Times of crisis brings out the best in most people. Encourage one another! 

For I long to see you, that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to strengthen you, that is, that we may be mutually encouraged by each other's faith, both yours and mine. - Romans 1:11-12 

Ringing the bell

What is your favorite season? Mine is autumn. Seasons are predictable in that we know about when they will begin and when they will end. We know what changes the new season will bring. Right now I am thinking pollen! Spring is beautiful, but the pollen drives my sinuses crazy. 

Life is all about seasons. Some seasons are long and some are short. Some we can’t wait to finish and some we want to last forever. Some are memorable, and some we have forgotten. 

I have just completed a season today. It’s the season of getting fried by proton beams. I must say that I am very pleased with this experience compared to the expected side effects of the regular external beam photon treatments. Regardless of what type of radiation treatment one has, they all are meant to do one thing—kill cells in your body. The proton beams have been laser-focused in a tight area to kill potential carcinogenic cells near my sub-mandibular salivary gland. 

Granted I have had some side effects—loss of taste buds, mouth sores, difficulty swallowing and a big glob stuck in the back of my throat all the time—but these are all part of this season. They too will end with the passing of this season.

I completed my 33 treatments today. At the Emory Proton Center when a patient completes their treatment, they have a small ceremony concluded by the patient ringing the brass bell prominently hung on the wall in the lobby (see photo on Instagram: LarryCox354). Ringing the bell symbolizes the completion of treatment, but it also symbolizes hope for the patient that their life will return to their normal and that they will be cancer free. 

As some of you readers have experienced in your own life, one is not pronounced cancer free right away. It varies with each type of cancer and with each person. When I was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2011, I was treated with proton therapy in Jacksonville, Florida in April and May of 2012, and I had the opportunity to ring the bell at the University of Florida Proton Therapy Institute. However, it was only in 2018 that I was able to get my radiation oncologist to nod his head when I asked him, “So, can I say that I am cancer-free now?” 

Don’t you wish that we could all have a brass bell that we could ring when we are ready for a season to end. But we are not in control of life’s seasons. The Bible says, “He made the moon to mark the seasons; the sun knows its time for setting.”  - Psalm 104:19

We often read and quote this familiar passage of scripture: 

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven” - Ecclesiastes 3:1

But the real message is on down in verse 12:

“I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live”- Ecclesiastes 3:12

God intends for us to live life at its fullness in every season—even in this Covid-19 season! Stop complaining about what we can’t do and start living life at its fullness every second of every day. Jesus died that we may have life—and have it more abundantly. Do good! Be kind! Give praise!

WAWA

Have you ever worked on a project that would mobilize people for a specific task? It takes an enormous amount of resources—time, financial, physical and emotional—to prepare people for a special program, event, or project. Then, just when you are ready to launch you receive word that the program, project or event has been scratched! 

Very frustrating! Many times over the years I have used the expression “All dressed up with no where to go.” There’s not much else you can do. Circumstances beyond your control scratch the whole mission and all you can do is wallow in self pity. 

While living in West Africa we would often stand in line at a government office for over an hour to get an official stamp on a document that we needed to either get a package out of customs, to get a permit for something, or to make a special purchase of something that was in limited supply. After waiting for a lengthy time, the person behind the window or desk would announce that he or she was closing for the day. Mind you there were no hours posted nor were there any other places to go to get what you needed. 

On other occasions you would be lined up at the post office to buy stamps. When your turn finally came after a 20 minutes wait they would say you are in the wrong line or sometimes they would say, ”We are out of stamps today.” 

One time when Cheryl was shopping she found some canned chips. She bought several packages on our once a month shopping trip to Ouagadougou. The next month when we returned there were none on the shelves, so she asked someone in the store. They said that they sold so fast that they could not keep them on the shelf so they decided not to order any more!!

Every time something like this would happen, all the westerners in West Africa would just say to themselves (or sometimes they might want to yell), “WAWA!” WAWA stands for West Africa wins again! There was absolutely nothing that you could do about the circumstances, and you needed some comic relief, so you would just have to be satisfied with saying WAWA. 

This morning we awakened early, had breakfast and dressed to drive into Atlanta for my 31st treatment. I have not had a treatment since last Thursday as the cyclotron has not been operable. Yesterday they called me very early to let me know that I would not be having a treatment, but this morning they did not call. After trying to get someone on the phone for an hour, we got all dressed up and ready to go. I decided to try a different office at Emory and finally received word that the machine is still not working. Cheryl was on one side of the kitchen bar and I was on the other looking at each other and we both said, “All dressed up and no where to go!” That was a WAWA moment. 

Hopefully the malfunction technicians will have the monster machine working soon so I can have my final three treatments. 

Circumstances

Thursday night I was in my hotel room in Atlanta. All my treatments this past week have been at 9:15am. Until this week the treatments have all been in the afternoon. I received a phone call from Emory Proton Center telling me that the big cyclotron machine was inoperable, so there would be no treatments on Friday. So there I was sitting in Atlanta all day Thursday waiting for my Friday morning treatment only to find out that I had wasted all that time.

I was angry. Why couldn’t they call sooner? This is a $150million machine so how can it have malfunctions that shut them down for a whole day? Now I would have to add a treatment on the end of my treatment schedule. I have finished 30 treatments, so this means I will have to go for a treatment on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday next week. 

We all wrestle with circumstances beyond our control almost every day. Right now we are all hunkering down because of the Coronapocalypse. We have been angry because our favorite store does not have any toilet paper left (go figure—why are people hoarding TP??—this is a viral infection of the respiratory system!!), the Clorox wipes shelf is empty and all the Lysol spray disappeared days ago. What are we going to do? 

I went into Costco on Wednesday to buy one item—yes, it was a crazy idea, but I was on a mission to make kids happy. We sent an Atlanta United pullover to our son-in-law for part of his birthday gift, but it did not fit. Well, you know how it is at Costco and Sam’s. If you don’t buy it today, it may not be there tomorrow, so I was instructed to go to Costco and buy a larger size. The parking lot was a mess. I had to park in the area the furtherest away from the front of the store—you know that area where no one ever parks. As I was trekking towards the store, a man with a buggy full of goods  said to me, “You don’t want to do this.” I was not sure what he meant. When I walked into the store, I found out. It was packed!  The checkout line stretched all the way to the back of Costco—no kidding! 

I wasn’t about to wait in one of those lines with dozens of carts lined up just to make one purchase. As I was walking out I started feeling guilty because I know how much this particular person LOVES Atlanta United soccer team and how disappointed he would be if I did not get him a shirt that would fit him. So I did a u-turn and zigzagged through the maze of loaded carts and picked out the right size and then looked way back in the store at the end of the line. I shook my head and decided that I would try to get checked out at the Customer Service desk. 

I maneuvered through the carts and stood in line at the service desk for a few minutes deciding how I could persuade the clerk to check me out. As my turn approached, I examined the shirt and was surprised that I had picked up the wrong size. Yes, I did. So it was back through the maze to retrieve the right size and get back in line at the service desk. When my turn came I was informed that they were not allowed to check out anyone at the Customer Service desk. I was angry again at the circumstances that placed me in this predicament—panic buying by people so scared that their only reaction is to buy things like a hoarder. All these people were causing me anguish and I was not happy. As I walked away in despair, the clerk said to me, “Why don’t you try the pharmacy? They may let you check out back there.” Well it was nice of her to suggest that, and her nicety shocked me out of my feeling sorry for myself. I realized that I could not control my circumstances, but I could control how I react to them. As I walked to the other side of the store through the buggies once again, I was more polite with people and asked them to excuse me instead of just plowing through them. Most of them responded with kind remarks and a smile. I was definitely in a better mood because I was spreading cheer and people were reciprocating with their own versions of cheer. 

After getting back into my car in the back forty of the parking lot, I remembered a quote from Martha Washington: “I am determined to be cheerful and happy in whatever situation I may find myself. For I have learned that the greater part of our misery or unhappiness is determined not by our circumstance but by our disposition.”

And, yes, the clerk at the pharmacy told me that they did not usually check out anyone who did not have a prescription, but since I was so kind, she would be happy to check me out. 

One more quote and this one from Coach Lou Holtz: “Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it.”

Waiting

Our family has kidded Amanda over the years about two words that she frequently used. All the family would be ready to go somewhere, and we were waiting on Amanda. One of us would yell and tell Amanda to come on and we were waiting on her. Her response was always: “I’m coming!” Those two words could mean many things such as I will be there in 10 seconds or I will be there in 10 minutes. But it was always the same response from Amanda.

I thought of this today as I was having my treatment. Each of the proton therapy gantries must wait their turn for the proton beam. Each of my treatments consist of bursts of proton beams from three different angles. So the therapists must get the machine lined up for the next burst and then wait on our turn for the protons. Usually the timing is such that we don’t have to wait longer than a few minutes between the three angles. 

But today was not the usual day. The first angle took FOREVER (meaning maybe 10 minutes, but you have to remember that I have that bite block stuffed in my mouth and that mask binding my head to the table)! Then, the second angle took equally as long and finally the last angle took even longer. 

I did a lot of thinking about waiting while on the treatment table today. We spend a lot of our lives waiting. Want to get a person riled? Talk to them about sitting in the “waiting room” of a doctor’s office! We wait in line at the post office—there always seems to be a line! We wait to pay for our groceries, at Target, at Walmart. I was at a sub sandwich shop today to buy a take out sandwich for a friend. I waited 20 minutes for the sandwich! There were four people behind the counter; there were four people who had placed orders , so what took so long? I had my treatment this morning and I am at a hotel 10 miles from Emory. It took me 45 minutes to get there. Yes, I was waiting—to get on the interstate, then the traffic comes to a grinding halt and I have to stop and wait.  Ever add up how many minutes of your life you spend in a typical day waiting for traffic lights to change? 

A I was lying on the table today the Lord reminded me that there is one kind of waiting that we don’t do enough—waiting on the Lord. We want the Lord to speak to us, and we want Him to do it right now. 

“But they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.“ - Isaiah 40:31

Thank you, Lord, for reminding me that in quietness and waiting is when you are most likely to speak to my heart. 

Already there

Yesterday after I completed my 26^th treatment, I had to go to the clinic area for a head and neck scan. I finished about 4:45pm. To put this in perspective, yesterday was Friday, and I was in mid-town Atlanta. That spells chaos for traffic. Fortunately, it was not raining because that multiplies the difficulty of moving around in ATL. However, President Trump was visiting the CDC yesterday, so when I exited the parking garage the street looked like a parking lot. I am sure that the president did not give one second of consideration as to what his visit would do to millions of drivers all trying to get home on a Friday afternoon. Why not visit the CDC on a Tuesday morning?

I was only five blocks from I-75 north, and the prospect of making the 85-mile drive in less than two hours looked bleak. Finally, I was able to nudge my car into the mass thanks to a kind person. Ten minutes later I had moved the length of two cars. We were in line to get on the ramp for I-75—five blocks away. I patiently waited for another 10 minutes and still had moved only 100 feet. I was right at a side street that had very few cars on it, so I turned into it only to realize it was a dead end two blocks later.

Wanting to keep moving, I drove in the opposite direction of the interstate, and although traffic was lighter (meaning creeping along), I was driving in the opposite direction from my home. I must stop this play-by-play of my fight with Atlanta traffic and get on with my story!

Anyhow, some of the things you do while stuck in traffic is read all the signs, stare at other drivers and read bumper stickers. A pickup truck with a Mississippi license plate was in the lane next to me, but there were no bumper stickers or decals on the back window. However, these words were painted in big letters on the tailgate: “Though my enemy be all around me, my God surrounds my enemy.”

Those words led me to cogitate on how much I take for granted the fact that the Spirit of the Lord is always with me. Often I hear people praying something like this: “Lord we just ask you to be with us.” or “Lord, would you bless us with your presence among us today as we gather for worship”.  Hey, you don’t need to pray that one because He is already with us.

Thank you, Lord, that you surround our enemies before we even know they are present.

Oh, by the way, I arrived home after a three-hour drive.

Claustrophobia

During my treatments I get three bursts of protons at different angles. The first dose is from below the table angling up into the area under my jaw. The second dose is more of a straight-on burst. For the third dose the sending unit is aimed at an angle of about 25 degrees pointing down on my neck. To get in the best position, my table is elevated to the point where the monstrous machine is only an inch from my face.

When the therapists fasten the mask to my face, It would be easy to have a feeling of claustrophobia and even more so with the behemoth pressing against my face. Today I was wondering why I am not bothered by this anxiety disorder. I did not dwell on those thoughts, but I could not help but think of my mother.

When Cheryl and I and our two preschool boys told our families goodbye at the airport in Jackson, Mississippi, it was not a good scene. The excitement of moving to France to study French got our adrenaline pumped, so we were not emotional about leaving—until all of our parents started crying. Granted they were not crying about not getting to see Cheryl and me for four years, but they were going to miss the only grandchildren in either of our families. 

We were fairly certain that my parents would not come to see us as they had never traveled by air, and they probably could not afford it anyhow. After we had lived in Tours, France for four months, my dad sent us an air letter (For those who are not old enough to know what this is, I have included a link: https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/air-letter) informing us that they were going to come to France for the Christmas holidays.

We were shocked, and then we were further surprised when we found out how they were going to buy the air tickets—by selling a pickup and three cows!

We drove to Paris to pick my mom and dad and my youngest brother, Danny, up at the airport. It was a happy reunion, but my mother looked very pale and a little disoriented. As she hugged me, she said, ”I thought I was going to die on that plane!” She was claustrophobic, and she suffered during the entire trip, but knowing that she was going to see us kept her going. 

As we were waiting to pick up their luggage, she said to us, ”I will never step on a plane again in my life.” I quickly said to her, “Mom, are you going to stay here in France with us? If not, then you will have to get back on a plane to return to Mississippi.” She said that she would make herself get back on the plane one more time, but that would be the last time she would ever fly. And, it was! 

Joy ride

Twenty three treatments done and 10 more to go.

As I lie on the table a therapist gives me my mouthpiece. They wet it with a solution so that it can more easily be placed in my mouth. The  therapists clamp the mask on my face and shoulders, and then they stand at their control station in the gantry, and my table begins to make a quarter turn so that it will be directly in the center of the 100 ton gantry. 

Before the proton therapy begins each day the therapists take X-rays  to make sure that I am properly aligned with the proton machine. Once they are sure that everything is aligned, they leave the gantry and go to  the master control room for that particular gantry. 

Immediately the whole gantry (remember it is shaped like a space capsule—see photos on Instagram LarryCox 354) begins to turn. For perspective the mask is so tight on my face that when the treatment is finished my cheekbones ache from the pressure of the mask. Therefore, I can only partially open my eyes, and to do so is uncomfortable. But I like to open my eyes when the gantry begins its counter-clockwise movement because it gives the sensation that the table I am on is turning upside down and I am suspended in space. 

Each day in my mind I call this my joy ride because it is like a “ride” at an amusement park. I have never been a fan of the extreme joy rides at amusement parks. I’m more of the merry-go-round type of joy ride person.

During my treatment today I thought much about the joy ride that I have had for the past 71 years. God has richly blessed me with family, friends and colleagues. I feel so undeserving of His grace, love, and protection.  

Thank you, Lord, for my Joy Journey. May all that I say, all that I do and all that I think bring glory to You. 

Glory

When I was first diagnosed with this salivary gland cancer, my doctor did not paint a rosy picture for a prognosis. The first needle biopsy report revealed highly differentiated carcinoma. You know when you start reading on the web you can find most any answer you might be searching for. Most things that I read about any kind of highly differentiated cancer were not good. 

At that point I had little information, but I had enough to know that I needed to recognize that this may be the end of my last season in this earthly body. I was fine with that. Don’t get me wrong here—I love living, but I am ready to meet Jesus face-to-face any time. I want to be with my family and friends, but the other option is to be at the feet of the Lord Jesus. Oh that would be glory for me!

I don’t completely understand my prognosis now after three biopsies, two surgeries and 21 days of proton therapy. My cancer is called a high grade one because the original cancer in the salivary gland was outside its margins, so they don’t really know if it is in other places in my neck or head. I am told that it is an aggressive cancer that usually moves to the lungs. My cat scans show no metastasis in my chest.

All in all, I am blessed to have had it diagnosed early and to have it contained in a small area. Each day I am in the men’s waiting room at Emory Proton Therapy Center, and I have become friends with a couple dozen fellows who are all having proton treatments for various kinds of cancer. 

Other than looking like I have a severe sunburn on the left side of my neck and swelling and scar tissue, I don’t look sick, and frankly, I am feeling well—with the exception of the slight discomfort of mouth sores, dry mouth, thick mucous and a little difficulty swallowing. When I see some of these other guys and hear their stories, I realize how blessed I am.  There’s a forty year old with a similar cancer to mine who has lost his eye. There is another man with cancer of the eyebrow (ever heard of that one??) and he has only a sunken in skin graft over the place where his left eye used to be. Another friend has cancer of the optic nerve and he only has a small opening where his mouth used to be and has open sores where his nose was. He eats though a stomach peg and has lost 100 pounds. I could tell you more, but you will easily  get my point here: I am so blessed to have had an early diagnosis, quality head and neck surgeons and the best radiation oncologist at Emory.

Lord, may we continually praise you for the way you take care of us. May we never take our health for granted. May we always have compassion for our fellow travelers in this world. Help me not to whine, but help me to give glory and honor to you all the days of my life. Amen. 

Words

While lying on the treatment table today, I had more difficulties with the “bite block” that I wear in my mouth under my mask. I needed to cough, but it is impossible to cough with that contraction pressed into my mouth. It is hard to explain, but it is a most uncomfortable feeling.

I was praying but after that coughing sensation I knew I had to do something else to distract my mind. I started wondering how many words were in my vocabulary. I started counting and arrived at a few hundred, and before I knew it, the treatment was over. So, I figured I knew at least a thousand words.

That led me to do some surfing on the web. I found a study by “The Economist” magazine from 2013 that found that the average native-speaking adult has a vocabulary range of 20,000-35,000 words. Wow! I must know a lot more words than I imagined. 

That intrigued me, so I did some more surfing and from a study done by the University of Arizona I found that the average adult speaks 16,000 words per day. Now I found some other stuff about women speaking more words per day than men, but I am not going there!

Ironically, today in a phone call after my treatment someone called my attention to this verse - Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear. - Ephesians 4:29

After my surfing tonight I have been thinking a lot about how many of the 16,000 words that I spoke today were not pleasing to the Lord. 

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O LORD, my rock and my redeemer.  - Psalm 19:14

Half of thirty three

Today I had my 17th treatment of 33. 

Yesterday I  finished my 16th treatments, but I have 33 total treatments. So when did I get to the halfway mark?

That question bothered me today during my treatment. As the therapists started working on me I couldn’t relax  until I figured it out. 

I am just like that. For example, if I’m getting up at 6 AM I never set my alarm for precisely 6 AM. I set the alarm clock at 5:57 or 6:06. Long ago Cheryl stopped asking me why. 

When you’re reading a fast-paced novel, have you ever tried to set the book aside for a couple weeks before finishing the last chapter? I have frequently done that. Again, Cheryl no longer asks me why, but I’m going to tell you: it teaches me discipline. 

And yes, I do the same thing when watching a good movie. I can stop just before the climax and come back to it after a few days. Cheryl never lets me do that when we watch a movie together.

I also like to watch multiple movies during the same period of time – meaning I will start one movie, watch part of it, and then go to another movie and watch part of it, and, then, maybe watch part of the third movie all within an hour or so. 

At least a few of you reading this are going to say, “Larry is weird!” Maybe. 

I like to think of it this way: indeed I am different from other people because I am the way God created me. When I was a kid one of my Sunday school teachers taught me a song that goes like this: Look all the world over there’s no one like me, no one like me, no one like me. Look all the world over there’s no one like me. There’s no one exactly like me.

When I stand face-to-face with the Lord in heaven I think he may ask me a question like this: Larry, why did you not spend more time being like I created you instead of trying to be like someone else?

Oh! How did I figure out when half my treatments were finished? It was easy. While strapped down to the table I estimated the halfway point of my treatment today and then celebrated all by myself being halfway through my 33 treatments 

P.S. when I eat a piece of pie I always eat the point of the pie last!

Photos

Google has not made any improvements on blogger since I set up this account in 2007. I can’t post photos now on blogger, so  I have posted some photos on my Instagram: Larry Cox 354.

I am trying to set up a new platform for the blog but I am having difficulty and need some help to set it up. In the meantime, thanks for checking out the photos on Instagram. 

Hotty Toddy

There are four gantries at Emory Proton Center. These are gigantic treatment areas that look like the nose of a giant space capsule. Each one has a different color. You will recall that I wrote a few days ago about my Cameroonian friend, Ndipku. He is in the purple gantry. I am usually in the orange gantry, but sometimes when the therapists get behind or there is a snafu in some of the technology, they will move me to a different gantry for that particular day. 

So I am usually in the orange treatment room, and there are five therapists who are on different shifts so that three of them are there at any given time. 

As soon as I walk into the treatment area the therapists are busy getting everything ready for my treatment. I climb onto the table and lie down. They put a wedge under my knees so that my back is more comfortable. They pull my gown down across my abdomen so that my ”tattoos” (actually Sharpie marks with tape over them) are visible. These marks are important as they assist in aligning me in the same place each day. 

I lay my head in a custom-made head rest. They place the hand pegs in place that I will hold onto firmly during the treatment (to help keep me from moving). A therapist hands me my bite block, and I place it in my mouth and pull my lips around it to get it set properly. This mouthpiece keeps my mouth in the open position during the treatment. 

Then comes the “piéce de resistance” comes out—the alien mask. After it is clamped down tightly, my table whirls out into the center of the gantry.

During this process I am talking with the therapists trying to get to know them. I asked the young lady about her education and we talked about that. Then just before they clamped the mask on me, I asked the young man named Rueben where he went to school. He said, ”Ole Miss.” That got me so excited that I sat up on the table and yelled out, “Hotty Toddy!” That was very uncharacteristic for me because that is the title of a famous Ole Miss jingle that has a couple of words in it that are not a part of my normal vocabulary. 

Nevertheless, when I said that Rueben said, ”You went to Ole Miss, too?” We delayed the treatment talking about him growing up in Pearl and about Mississippi stuff. 

Every day the Lord gives me a small gift that makes the treatment go so much more smoothly. Thank You, Heavenly Father for all the small things that You provide for us on a daily basis that many times we either don’t recognize or don’t acknowledge that they came from You. 

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. - Romans 8:28

He knows all

As I was lying on the hard polymer/metal “bed” in the radiation gantry today for my treatment, I was thinking about all the technology involved in giving me three 20 second bursts of proton therapy. Radiation oncologists, physicists,  and other medical personnel calculated the exact dosage of proton radiation that my affected area needs, the correct angles, the amount of time—all according to my position on the table and my involuntary breathing. 

In the basement of the building where I get my treatments is a giant machine that costs $150 million. This cyclotron is 220 tons of metal shaped like a hockey puck. The cyclotron’s magnets and electric fields can accelerate subatomic particles to 60% the speed of light. It fires the protons through 100 yards of computer-guided piping into four treatment rooms. 

While I lie on my bed in my treatment room, a 100 ton motorized gantry is controlled by the metrics set up for my treatment. The whole gantry spins around to adjust the machine to send protons to my salivary gland from three different angles. All of this is guided by three radiation therapists specially trained for this technology. 

Lying there today, I was impressed by all that education and training of the medical staff and all that expensive equipment that was designed and built by some very smart people. Moreover, I was overwhelmed by the fact that I am allowed to have a personal relationship with an omniscient Heavenly Father who makes all this possible. Thank you Lord! 

Dry mouth

Since my diagnosis of salivary gland cancer, I have learned much about the salivary glands. For those of you who like details my cancer is in the left submandibular salivary gland. When the surgeons performed the neck dissection, the incision started behind my left ear which exposed the left carotid salivary gland. Most cases of salivary gland cancer occur with the carotid gland and not in in the submandibular gland. 

All of us have experienced some degree of dry mouth. Most often when we are anxious or worried about something, our mouths get dry. Some like me breathe primarily through their mouths while sleeping, so we wake up in the middle of the night with a dry mouth. 

I can recall being nervous about something—an exam, a confrontation with a loved one or friend or an annual job review. The anxiety made my mouth dry and very uncomfortable.

I have dry mouth day and night now, but it is not caused by anxiety or nervousness. One of the side effects of the radiation treatments is dry mouth. I am not anxious or nervous about these treatments. Certainly, I don’t look forward to them with the bite block stuffed into my mouth making my mouth quiver and the rubber mask stretched so tight around my face and shoulders making my jaw bones ache. But I have complete peace about them, so my dry mouth is not caused by anxiety but by the treatments. I have confidence in my Lord who is with me in the quietness during the treatment. Thank you Lord that you promised that we don’t have to ask you to be with us because you are already with us in every situation at all times. 

Today I will have my 12th treatment. I have completed one third of the treatments—11 of 33.

Real men cry

While we were living in Richmond, Virginia, a mutual friend introduced me to  Dr. Walter Mills and his wife, Sue, in 2002. We were not able to spend much time together until a couple years later when we moved to Georgia. By that time Walter had retired after a lifetime of helping people through his practice of dentistry. After retirement, he helped Sue and their daughter, Lori, with Sue’s interior design company. 

Over the years Walter and I have become close friends. I am the oldest of three boys, and I never had an older brother. I have often referred to Walter as my big brother. Walter had his third stroke and has been hospitalized for the past eight days. His mind is sharp but his left side is paralyzed. 

The Lord put me in Atlanta for my proton therapy at this time so that I could help take care of Walter and Sue. Sue has not left Walter’s bedside, so I have been taking care of their pets and things at their house during the week while I am in Atlanta. I am visiting with them each day, and it is sad to see my “big brother” lying in the bed with a feeding tube, and unable to communicate verbally. 

Walter’s left limbs are not functioning, but his right hand grip is still very firm. That’s the hand that has taken care of thousands of his patients in over 40 years of dentistry. As I stood there today holding his hand, I told Walter that when I grow up I want to be like him. He wanted to communicate with me, but his words would not form with his mouth. But, he communicated completely. He started crying. I started crying. Our hearts were in tune and the communication was clear.

Walter will be 89 on Monday. 

Two angels

I am driving into Atlanta on Mondays and then back home after my treatment. On Tuesday, I am driving back to downtown Atlanta and will return home on Fridays for the next five weeks. Today’s drive was awful. Anyone who has driven in Atlanta knows what a mess the traffic is. Well, when it rains, it is exponentially worse. It rained all day, so it was a stressful day.

Complicating the stress level was visiting my friend in the hospital. Dr. Walter Mills is a retired dentist, and he had his third stroke in the last few weeks last Thursday. He and his wife of 60 years, Sue, are dear friends of Cheryl and me and our entire family. Walter’s situation is not good, and it breaks my heart to see him lying in the bed with a feeding tube and unable to talk or move his left arm and leg. Sue and Walter lost both their children in their early 50s from heart attacks—just one year apart. 

While visiting with them today, a nurse came in to get his vitals, and he spoke English with an accent. I recognized that he was probably from French-speaking West Africa, so I just randomly spoke to him in French. He turned quickly to me in a big smile and spoke to me in French. Raoul was from Cameroon, and he had been in the USA for 4 years. We had a good visit, and as it is in most cases when I meet a West African in the US, it is like we have been friends for a long time. Raoul lifted my spirits on a dark day. 

Each day when I arrive at Emory Proton Therapy Center, I go to the men’s dressing room, put on my gown and wait for one of the therapists to call me back. Today, a new face appeared in the doorway calling for me. I introduced myself to him and he told me his name was Ndipku, so I greeted him in French, and his face lit up with a huge smile as he responded to me in French. He was also from Cameroon and had been in the USA for 12 years. As we entered the treatment gantry speaking French with one another, the other two therapists were asking what we were speaking. I don’t think either of them knew that Ndipku spoke French. 

During my treatment I was praying and thanking the Lord for making me feel so much better about the dreary, stressful and painful day by sending two angels to brighten my day. While praying I realized that I was wallowing in my dreary day while making no effort to encourage  anyone else. Our problems and challenges are never too big to keep us from encouraging others in Jesus’ name.

May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Christ Jesus, - Romans 15:5

Cats

I’ve never been really fond of cats. I think it has something to do with how quietly they move about – almost like stalking you. I’m not allergic to them although two of our children are. However, they all know I don’t like them!

Over the years cats have done some very nasty things to me – like in my car, like in my luggage, like in the bed of the guest room of friends where Cheryl and I were supposed to sleep, etc. Don’t think I need to go into more details here!

When the girls were young we had a few cats, and I tolerated them as outdoor cats. One of them had a habit of climbing up under the hood of the car to get near the warm engine in the winter time. Usually, when we came out of the house to get in the car, the cat would quickly exit the car. One morning when I cranked up the car there was this giant thud. I knew immediately that the cat had encountered the fan belt of my car. Not a good ending for that cat.

Cheryl was completely surprised 12 years ago when I brought home a cat. A farmer had a goat I wanted to add to my herd, and when I was ready to buy it he said there’s one condition—you have to take a cat home with the goat. He told me to be careful because the cat was wild.

So, I showed up with a solid black cat that the farmer had put in a mesh bag with the top securely tied. I carefully untied the mesh bag because I was afraid with my luck that the cat would attack me. I turned it upside down and the cat fell out and jumped out of the truck and hit the ground running with both of our dogs right on her tail.

The cat ran up a tree to a height of at least 25 feet. Cheryl looked at me and said, “Well, aren’t you going to get it down?” That was the wrong thing to ask me. I responded that I had no intention of getting it down and when the cat was ready to come down that she would come down by herself.

Of course, that sparked a bit of family anger as I was the bad guy who wouldn’t get the poor cat down out of the tree. There was little consideration given to the fact that I couldn’t even touch the cat with my 24 foot ladder much less get it down. The next day the cat was still up the tree. And, then the next day it rained and the very wet cat came down out of the tree. 

One of the granddaughters named the cat “Viola.” I don’t know where the name came from, but 12 years later we still call her Viola. By the way, I have learned to love Viola because she keeps rats and mice out of our garage. On cold winter nights Viola sleeps with our two dogs—one which chased her up that tree 12 years ago. If only people were able to forgive and forget like animals. 

If you are tired of my cat stories, you can stop here. If you are game to read one more, please continue...

When we were leading workers in Northern Africa and the Arab world region, my good friend, John, and I were visiting a family in a country in the Sahara. They were having some challenges living in a very desolate, dry and dirty place, and we had come to encourage them and to talk about the future for their family. 

John sat down in a chair in their living room, the couple sat on a sofa and I sat on a love seat. After only a couple minutes of sitting down, all of a sudden some wild thing jumped on my back and dug its claws into my neck and scalp. I reached up and grabbed the varmint and slung it with all my might across the room. The wild thing was the family cat! 

With no regard for my welfare, the couple ran to their traumatized cat and started loving on it. And my colleague and friend, John, well, he was so startled that he was just staring back and forth between the couple holding the cat and me. The only apology I received was this statement: “He’s never done that before.” Wouldn’t you know it—the feline fanatic chose me to attack for the first (and probably only) time