Go(o)d Trials

Part I

How many books that consider the topic of healing have reached my eyes? Those searching eyes that are at times wholesomely curious, at times bleakly desperate? Easily the most beloved works have been those of poet and teacher about healing, death, and dying: Stephen Levine. That his words would consistently inspire in me a deeper love and tenderness for my body itself only just touches on the undeniable feeling that his words themselves directly transmit healing. With as much ease as he wrote about the unconscious and about Buddhist meditation, just so would he write of God—about whom he remarked he meant nothing more suggestive than the very presence of holiness and the sacred he personally experienced. None were more surprised than me to discover, as time unfolded, that God-talk also carried a very real meaning for me, and that “praying to God” effected an inner movement that was as pleasant as it was palpable. Over the months and now years, gradually my vernacular grew with God-talk, and that wasn’t the only growth on offer.

++A brief resurgence of my interest in the philosophy of my university days had me reading for a couple months the self-termed “weak theology” of John D. Caputo—and feeling (really feeling) delighted in it!

++Soaking in the sublime as one does when taking in the compositions of J.S. Bach had no small effect on the stirring of things Christian inside me. His Cantatas enlivened my spirit and his fugues conjured deep wonders (how could they be possible? and what realm could it signify?)! 

++Fascination gave birth to inspiration in my reading of Evelyn Underhill’s esteemed scholarship of mysticism.

++Passing church after church in my regular strolling of this new American neighborhood, and having curiosity after curiosity about what lies inside—eventually my imagination would paint a picture of what might be.

++Then finally, one day, deciding, come the next Sunday, for the first time as an adult, to walk myself through the doors of a church.

(But hang on: I don’t mean this reflection to be about one Midwestern man’s unlikely dharmic road to loving Christ—not quite; or more to the point, not yet.)

Part II

Later that same afternoon, post-spirited-decision, I’d be dumbstuck with joy after receiving a message from my oncologist that she had been notified about an opening in a clinical trial and wanted to recommend me! Me!!

But first, I need to do some explaining.

After years of wondering whether we could, and imagining what if we did, and arguing that maybe we shouldn’t, and all along the way taking the steps to execute the improbable—at long last we finally landed in America, Washington, Ellensburg. I could say it’s been an easier adjustment than I anticipated, but that might betray the true struggles we’ve had in transplanting our lives into a different country and culture, and one that, more and more it seems, is hostile to certain types of newcomers. But though there’s a hundred things we miss about Taipei and Taiwan, there’s an equally long list of things we’re enjoying about building our new home here.

Among those good things has been getting established with a new medical team at Fred Hutchinson Cancer Center in Seattle. Dr. Cohen, my new oncologist, and her diverse team have been nothing short of perfect at welcoming me, being curious about my needs, and getting serious about my care. Given that the line of treatment I had been receiving in Taipei seemed to have become ineffective, evidenced by the new growth of some nodules in my lungs, we decided to go back to a prior line of treatment I received in 2022–2023 and “rechallenge” it. Sometimes cancer patients get lucky and a previously used treatment can become effective again—whether that lucky streak lasts long or little, any amount of time counts for grace in my experience.

A few weeks ago I had a CT scan to assess the effectiveness of the chemotherapy we decided to rechallenge. Dr. Cohen said the CT scan showed “mixed results.” For some, hearing news of “mixed results” may occasion disappointment or dashed hopes. But when treatment for a terminal diagnosis is the game you’re playing, as I am, getting a “mixed result,” as far as I’m concerned, is as good as hitting a jackpot. 

Since switching treatments a couple months prior, some nodules in my lungs had shrunk, but a mass in my liver had grown. The growth in my liver may not be malignant, however, and it would need an MRI to gather more intel. In the wider scheme, it seemed that the current treatment protocol might be working to control cancer’s pernicious crawl, so we decided I’d stay on it a while longer and reassess in a couple months.

It was then that I got the good news. The message from Dr. Cohen read that a spot had opened up in a clinical trial run by one of her colleagues. The trial investigates an experimental drug that targets KRAS G12D—that’s a very specific mutation that I carry, and the hope is that this drug would block the cancer cell growth that this mutation promotes. Dr. Cohen said it’s one of the more promising types of experimental treatments being investigated right now. And, “I want to recommend you for the trial.” The tears in my eyes wouldn’t surprise you. “Heaven sent” was the phrase inscribed on the moment. I assured her I was very interested.

A few days ago, my eligibility was evaluated, then confirmed, and we decided I would join the trial!! This will take place at a different treatment facility…but, and this is huge, it’s still in Seattle! My new oncologist is Dr. Lee, she seems great, and it tickles my fancy that she’s also from Minnesota! I am, however, untickled about having to drive two hours to Seattle every week for six months for the trial, and thereafter bi-weekly for the indefinite duration of the experimental drug’s efficacy for me. They say “you can’t have it all,” and the acceptability of that platitude is increased by the prospects of receiving a treatment that may extend my time living a life with which I’m in love.

When we moved back to the U.S., and I thought about the time that would come to endeavor finding a clinical trial, I was braced for a grueling research process, the pain of being the “squeaky wheel” with trial administrators to get noticed in the competitive pool of prospects, flying around the country to be screened, and, if I were ever to be so fortunate as to meet the strict requirements of the trial and get accepted, then fly again to the treatment site to participate and live apart from Gigi for probably months at a time. The reality that this won’t be my reality is what I’m struggling to believe right now. It’s awesome. Gratitude, being thankful, and savoring my current good fortune—I feel like I hit another jackpot.

It’s more good news, and I want to keep listening.