Infusion 50 and a PET scan, and a complete response

It's hard to believe just 4 weeks has passed since my last infusion. Since then, Chelsea flew to DC, joined Jennifer and I as we attended a farewell reception at a friends house, then then next day turned around and flew back to SLC with Jennifer and me. We got Jennifer settled into her new specialized memory care assisted living facility, then I went with Chelsea to her house in Huntsville. The next few days were a blur of visiting Jennifer and taking her to her medical appointments, spending time with Chelsea, Josh, and the grandchildren, and readjusting to the slower rhythms of small-town life.

On July 9, Garrett completed his two-year mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Jennifer and I met him at the mission home in Salt Lake City, and were able to attend the departing missionary fireside. Garrett sang "Be Still My Soul" acapella, then bore his testimony. It was a moving experience. When he finished, I moved and let Garrett take my seat next to his mother.  Jennifer laid her head on his shoulder and wept tears of joy.

The next day, Spencer and Kirsten joined us in Utah. It was the first time our complete family had been together since March 2016. I had wondered whether I would live to see that day. We went boating, played games, and ate together, soaking up each other's presence. We met with a social worker who guided the kids through a discussion regarding their mom's cognitive decline, and suggestions on sorting through their emotions. We also had a family council where we discussed the estate planning steps that Jennifer and I had taken, and made some decisions regarding family finances.

After nearly a week of family time, Kirsten and Spencer drove to Denver, where Spencer embarked on hiking the Colorado Trail from Denver to Durango (blog link here). It's "only" 487 miles, so unlike his thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail last year, he'll knock this out in a month or so. I keep telling him there's medication that can help cure his hiking illness, but he declines my sage advice.  The best medicine, I've found, is sold at Krispy Kreme.

On July 20, Garrett and I flew back to DC. On Sunday, July 22, Garrett gave his missionary homecoming report to his home congregation in Great Falls. He left a boy and came home a man. I also spoke.

Yesterday, I went to Kaiser and had infusion #50. The only side effects I've noticed so far from my increased dosage of nivolumab is some scalp itching and perhaps a tendency for my gums to bleed slightly after brushing my teeth. No big deal. I'll continue to monitor any side effects.

Last night I battled traffic for nearly two hours to get to Kaiser's Capitol Hill location for a PET scan. That's a drive that takes perhaps 30 minutes when it's not rush hour. I am not going to miss DC traffic. My Kaiser oncologist agreed to my request for the test a couple of days ago, so I was added to the end of the day for the end of the day. The nurse just called and said the scan showed no evidence of metastatic disease -- a complete response! Woo hoo! Dr. Ferrera recommends keep going with Opdivo for now. Based upon this news, I'm more likely to  eventually shift my ongoing care to the Huntsman Center in Salt Lake.

Southwest cancelled our flight to SLC this afternoon, due to the heavy weather that is forecast to hit the region later today. So we're no scheduled to return to Utah on Saturday. We'll stay for a couple of weeks, then return to DC on August 14. I'll deliver Garrett to college on August 18, then have another infusion at Kaiser  the following week. I'll also be meeting with both Dr. Hahn at Hopkins and Dr. Ferrera at Kaiser, and likely will confirm my decision to transfer my care to Utah. For now, however, I'm simply relieved to be back in remission.

Church talk: We all are immigrants

Following are my prepared comments for a talk I gave in the sacrament meeting of the Great Falls Ward of the McLean Stake of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on July 22, 2018:

Tuesday, July 24, is Pioneer Day in Utah. I have a confession to make. I never felt much affinity for stories of the Mormon pioneers, crossing the plains in 1847. I had no forebears who were pioneer stock, and felt kind of left out by those stories. So I’m not going to talk about the pioneers and the Days of ‘47. 

Actually, I am going to talk about the Days of ‘47. 

In the fall of 1947, Brother and Sister Mondfrans, a senior Mormon missionary couple from Ogden Utah, knocked on the door of a residence in Hilversum, Holland. The door was opened by my grandma. At the time, she was 47 years old. She was a mother of 6, with her the youngest just a year old. The Mondfrans’s stayed at that home for 6 hours, taking turns holding the baby and teaching the gospel, first to my grandmother (Oma), then to her children as they arrived home from school or work, and then to my grandpa, or Opa. 

My mom was 13 years old when she first met the Mondfrans's in 1947. The women of family studied the gospel of Jesus Christ for months. The Mondfrans’s returned to Ogden a few months later, never having baptized them or anyone else. They thought that their mission was a failure. 

History of the Netherlands Mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, 1861-1966, Keith Crandall Warne, Master's Thesis, 1967

In February 1948, Oma, my mother, and her older sister were baptized in a swimming pool in Utrecht and became members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Oma then devoted her relentless energy to teaching the gospel to the rest of her family, and within a year, they all had joined the Mormon church, including the spouses of her older children, and Opa. They helped establish a branch in Hilversum, with Opa representing the LDS church in locating, negotiating, and purchasing a building for use as the chapel.

During her studies, Oma had learned about the promise of eternal marriage, with the promise that families could be together forever, when marriages were solemnized in the temple by those having proper power and authority from God. She became passionate about wanting her family to be sealed in the temple. There were no temples were in Europe at that time. The closest temple to Holland was in Salt Lake City, over 7000 miles away.

Oma began to discuss with Opa her idea of the family going to Salt Lake City. My grandfather thought it was a crazy idea. They did not have passports. They did not have visas to the United States. No one in the family spoke English. They could not afford round trip tickets. It simply was out of the question.

Oma agreed that they could not afford round trip tickets. So she said that it would have to be a one-way journey. The only way for her family to be sealed in the temple was to sell everything, leave their home country, and emigrate to America.

Opa said no. He loved living in Holland. He had no desire to start all over in a foreign country. Opa had worked at the Post Office for 33 years. He had a pension coming. He explained to Oma that the Dutch pension system would not remit payments to foreign countries. The pension money had to be collected in Holland, from the Bank of Holland. If Opa moved to the US, he would be unable to collect his pension.

All of my grandfather’s concerns were perfectly understandable. They were rational, and reasonable. Traveling to the US to go to the temple was simply not possible, he said.

My grandmother answered: "If the Lord wants us to go, the way will be opened to us."

Opa just sighed. He knew how strong-minded his wife was. Once she got a certain idea in her head there was very little chance she would change her mind. So he said that, if she could get the visas, raise $6000 (more than $60,000 today), and figure out how he could collect his pension in America, he would go. Then he put it out of his mind, because he knew it was not going to happen.

At this time (in 1949), US immigration law allotted only 3000 immigrant visas each year to Dutch citizens. Each visa recipient had to have a sponsor, and prove that they had sufficient funds to get established in the US. In post-WWII Europe, there was strong demand for visas to America. Eventually, Oma persuaded Opa to apply for 4 visas: the two of them and their two youngest children.

Meanwhile, Oma had to figure out where to get the money. She got the idea of finding someone who would loan them $6000, then be repaid from Opa’s pension payments in Holland. Opa sarcastically said that she should find an LDS family in Utah who had a bunch of pension money being held for them in Holland, and who would agree to let her and her family access those funds, and who would agree to let them be repaid from Opa’s future pension payments.

“That is the answer!” Oma answered enthusiastically, “We will find a person in that situation.”

“And how do you plan to find such a person?” Opa asked.

“We’ll pray about it and if the Lord wants us to go to the temple, He will lead some one to us.” Opa rolled his eyes and bit his tongue.

In April 1951, the family was awarded 4 visas to emigrate to the US. They had six months to find a sponsor, and find $6000. If they did not succeed within six months, the visas would expire.

Each day Opa would come home from work and ask, “Any news?” Mother would shake her head and say “It is up to the Lord.” Opa would smile and say nothing more. He did not want to move to America.

Several months went by. Each day, Oma would petition the Lord for a way to be opened for them to go to the temple. Those prayers were joined by my mother who was turning 17 in the summer of 1951. She had completed her studies in Dutch school system, and was the only family member who spoke any English. She very much wanted to move to America. But they had no money, and no sponsor.

In September 1951, five months had passed since the visas were issued. They would expire in 4 weeks. Nothing.

Three more weeks went by. Opa knew that they were not moving to America.

The first week of October arrived. It was the last week before the visas would expire. On Monday, Opa cheerfully asked, “Any money yet?” “No, but the week is nor over yet,” Oma would answer.

On Tuesday he asked the same question. “Not yet”, she answered, “but I did check that there is a ship leaving for the US on Saturday. It’s a freighter, and it still has room for the 4 of us.” My grandfather gave his wife an incredulous look, and bit his tongue.

On Wednesday Opa came home and asked the same question.

“Yes”, Oma answered, “Sister Mann’s daughter came over today. As you know, her parents emigrated to America two years ago. She just received a letter from her mother telling her that we can borrow her husband’s pension money. They have more than $6000 available and we can use whatever we need. They also will sponsor us. Tomorrow, you and Tina will have to go to Amsterdam to buy the tickets on the ship that I told you about. We will be leaving Holland three days. The Lord has just been testing us to see if we would have enough faith to wait this long.”

Brothers and sisters, do you believe in miracles?

My grandmother had already packed her bag. No one else in the family had done anything to prepare. Now they had three days to prepare to leave their home country and move to America. All because of my grandmother’s desire to be sealed in the temple. That desire, that hope, that faith, to be sealed to her husband and children for time and all eternity, was a moving principle.

Brothers and sisters, do you share that same yearning to go to the temple?

We are taught that faith can move mountains. I never have seen a mountain move, but I know that the faith of my grandmother brought her and her family into the church. It brought them to the docks of Antrwep on Saturday, October 9, 1951, to board the freighter Edam to New York. It brought them a 5 day journey on a Greyhound bus from NYC to SLC. It brought them to a fully furnished two bedroom apartment in SLC, prepared my members of their new ward. There even was a pot of soup bubbling on the stove. And it brought them to the temple, the house of the Lord.

My Oma’s faith was as bright as the sun, and powerful as a laser. Her faith was the moving force that has changed the course of lives of thousands of people. Her faith caused the spirit of the Lord to influence the actions of others: the Mann’s, who agreed to sponsor them, and loan them the money. The members of their new ward in Salt Lake, who put everything in place for these weary travelers. Those members who were willing to minister to people they didn’t even know, simply because they were asked.

When we are in the service of our fellow beings, we are in the service of the Lord.

My grandparents have hundreds of descendants. Dozens – including their great grandson, Garrett – have served full-time missions. Those missionaries have been instrumental in baptizing hundreds, if not thousands, of others. Among those converts, many have served missions. Many thousands of lives have been changed by the faith of my Oma, a 20^th century pioneer.

My mother is an immigrant to America, and became a naturalized citizen. I am in the first generation of that lineage to be born American. I am profoundly grateful to be a citizen of this country. 

We are taught that “it is not common that the voice of the people desire[] anything contrary to that which is right; but it is common for the lesser part of the people to desire that which is not right” (Mosiah 29:26). I fear that we living in uncommon times. We have an obligation individually and collectively, to oppose tyranny, oppression and unrighteous dominion, to speak and pray for peace, and to ensure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity in this land, a nation born of immigrants and refugees.

All of us are immigrants. “As members of the Church, we are admitted into the house of Israel. We become brothers and sisters, equal heirs to the same spiritual lineage. God promised Abraham that “as many as receive this Gospel shall be called after [his] name, and shall be accounted [his] seed, and shall rise up and bless [him], as their father.” A promise has been made to everyone who becomes a member of the Church: “Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellow citizens with the saints, and of the household of God.” (“Ye Are No More Strangers”, by Bishop Gerald Causse, First Counselor in thePresiding Bishopric, October 2013 General Conference.)

            Being strangers in a new country, or new congregation, can be intimidating. A desire for the old country, or our old ways, sometimes can be overpowering. A fear of change, or of stretching, can inhibit growth.

In September 2000, when my family and I moved to Great Falls, I was a stranger to this ward. The second week of church, as I was trying to enforce reverence with my two year old (who now is sitting behind me as a returned missionary), I heard the Bishop unexpectedly speak my name, along with the words “young men’s presidency” and “scoutmaster”. I turned to Jennifer and asked, “Did I just get called to something?” She half nodded in surprise, and we both gave Bishop Croft the stink eye. I half stood, uncertain of what was going on, and tentatively sustained myself to an unknown calling. Yet with that calling, and subsequent callings, I have grown.

A few weeks ago, a grown man came up to me and fondly recalled how, 10-15 years ago, I had taught him in Sunday School as a teen. He said that he didn’t recall much of the substance of my lessons, but remembered how, at the end of each lesson, if everyone behaved, I would teach the class a "new truth" from the scriptures. Like how Nahum prophesied street racing (Nahum 2:4). How Jeremiah said we should not have Christmas trees (Jeremiah 10:1-4). Or how Jesus instructed his disciples to not watch television (Matt 17:9 “tell the vision to no man”). Or, most controversially, how there are no women in heaven (Rev.8:1). (Remember, these are meant to be facetious.)

            As should be clear from this talk, I can’t claim to have the same faith as my grandmother. I think I’m closer to Opa, not seriously thinking that the gospel lightning will strike me. Yet as I look back on my life, I can see the traces of Oma’s influence in my life. To stay the course. To keep going. To not question the things that the Lord sees fit to inflict upon me (see Mosiah 3:19).

            And the Lord has seen fit to inflict much upon me. The challenge of balancing my time. Seeing my children at times making unwise decisions. I have learned to let go of expectations and grant them their agency. I have walked through the valley of the shadow of death with my ongoing journey with metastatic cancer. And I have been rendered – in every meaning of that elemental word – by my wife’s descent into early onset dementia. It is wrenching to lose a loved one while she is still living. I hope that in being weighed and measured, I have not been found wanting (see Daniel 5:27). I hope to have courage to endure to the end (see D&C 14:7).

            And yet, I can find joy in every day. I have been sustained by the love of my family. Garrett, you do not know how your weekly letters gave me strength to carry on. Your selfless service nourished my soul during a spiritual famine. They were my weekly manna. Thank you.

            I have been sustained by the love and support of my friends during these difficult times. Thank you. And to all the members of this congregation, who have supported and sustained me during these 18 years, thank you. May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Ghost, be with you all. (2 Cor. 13:14)