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.