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November 11
St. Anne, Kimball
What a genuine priest! Father James Statz adeptly connected today’s feast day of Saint Martin of Tours, Bishop, to the news that our bishop is of the age, 75, where he needs to submit papers for a replacement. All the cardinals in red, the symbolic smoke and overall replacing-a-Pope-pomp came to mind, but I had never paid attention to how bishops are selected. Father James asked us to pray for the next bishop as so much of the sex abuse scandal needs to be addressed. I had not heard a priest speak with such conviction about this scourge. He connected it with the gospel: “It would be better for him if a millstone were put around his neck and he be thrown into the sea than for him to cause one of these little ones to sin” Luke 17:1-6. In his description of the fully operational millstone he saw in the Holy Land, he created a stark visual of a very heavy donut-shaped stone dragging someone to the bottom of the ocean. He asked us to pray for those who have left the church because of the sex abuse. His homily made me both uncomfortable and appreciative in its honesty, like any onerous subject.
A long-time friend, Sarah, joined me for Mass and we talked afterward for a long time about our faith. As a general rule, I avoided discussing those hot topics of religion or politics with anyone so it was refreshing to have a heart-to-heart with a friend, no judgement regardless of beliefs. Sarah would always be a kindred spirit; there is something about sharing Mass that binds souls together.
The Written Word
Listening to the difficult topic reminded me of how I had struggled with my cancer diagnoses and the written word. Reading the words “spiculated mass, longer than wide” and “highly suspicious for malignancy” on my first biopsy pathology report took my breath away, something about seeing the diagnosis in print was more solidifying than hearing them aloud. “Malignancy” I knew as the antonym of benign, but “spiculated” was a new word and the image of a glob of cells with tentacles ready to infiltrate never left my mind.
In my experience, I quickly determined that two words that are difficult to say, hear, and write are “my oncologist.” Prior to meeting Dr. D, I completed a family history with Mom’s help. Cancer was not prevalent in either side of the family, just malevolently sniffing around the edges. Thereafter, updating my history for dental or annual physical was usually a lot of checks in the no column and one check for cancer. My blood work usually fell in the normal ranges and I did not need corrective eyeglasses until I was 51. Due to a concerted effort, even my earlobes are particularly youthful and not stretched out as I was mindful never to wear heavy earrings and I protected my hearing by never listening to loud music through earbuds or old school headphones. From 1989-1998 I was a lacto-ovo-vegetarian. From 2016 forward Scott and I intermittently fasted, eating only between 11am and 6pm. To make up for the ill-adv