CROOKED NOTES

Racing against Time

2011-04-18T01:14:00.000-04:00

You will forgive me from this point forward if my spelling and grammar fail me but my mind and body tire quickly and leave me with no desire to commit to the important task of editing. I do pray my message will not suffer greatly and that you, my dear reader, will take into consideration how I have been reduced to typing with one finger while laid out practically immobile on what has become my deathbed.

Since receiving the news that not much more can be done, I feel like I am in a race against time. So much more I want to say. So much more I want to grapple with. Time has always been an enemy, never slowing down enough to allow me to accomplish everything on my pregnant bucket list. What can I do? The faster I try to put down for posterity sake what is in my heart, the faster it seems the cancer spreads and slows me down. Rather than throw my hands up in utter frustration I choose to do what I can with the time allotted to me.

Such a dreadful shame I never developed the discipline I so desperately needed to commit to writing. Being ever the Renassaince kind of a guy I filled my plate with way too many aspirations. I wanted to be a published author for one. A painter and artiste'. A Poet, an Actor, a musician, a Singer, a Preacher, etc...etc...etc... In the end I fear I accomplished none of these to perfection and leave behind a blueprint never materialized. Not even a firm foundation or legacy for others to be able to build upon. Or maybe, I'm being too hard on myself as always. Only God will know and very soon I'll have the opportunity to hear it for myself first-hand.

For whatever the reason, I am not afraid of what is soon to come - sweet death. I am in such peace that it is almost scary. I hope and pray I am not being overly confident in myself but instead putting my hope in Christ alone. When the moment comes and I take my last breath, I am assured I will no longer see things with my earthly eyes but with my spiritual eyes as I see angels entering my room in all their other-worldly brilliance and each one fill the room with such glorious and infinite light. Finally one will reach out to me, inviting me to take his or her hand as I step out of this mortal body and finally cross over the veil. Gladly I will reach out for that welcoming ethereal hand and in an instant find myself transformed and finally forever free of this pain I have carried within my bones for the last four years.

The only thought that does try and creep in every so often is the "what if"...what if having been so foolish and fearful like the parable Jesus spoke of, I took my talents and buried them. Oh the horror! This would be truly a travesty and a tragedy to have nothing to show my Lord when I finally come before Him. Please, please, please God, I hope I had enough common sense to put those talents to work and will have something to show for it. This is why I need to keep reminding myself that in God's kingdom things are completely the opposite of how the world measures success and achievement. I may have never perfected the multitude of talents I was blessed with, but I pray I did put them to good use for the honor and pleasure of my king and those around me. I know some of you must be reading this and muttering under your breath how absurd I am being but one can never be so sure. With all this said, I choose to fall at the feet of Jesus and rest in His lovingkindness and mercy. Grace. Grace. Grace and more grace in these last days and hours I have left.

One thing is for sure and with this I end this post, I believe with all my heart that the One called Jesus the Christ awaits me with open arms. If I did not have this blessed hope I would not have been able to endure this brutal onslaught upon my body. I know he weeps for me much more than I or anyone else has wept or will ever weep. He is moved by my slow suffering and although He died for my sins and carried my sins on the cross, I am no fool in realizing that what I am currently experiencing in my mortal flesh has been plain and simple due to my poor choices. Although my sins are forgiven, those sins I speak of that I now ashamed to even mention have dreadful consequences which I am now paying dearly for. He never intended for me to suffer so but I alone took this temple of His Holy Spirit and gave it over to the temporary sexual pleasures of the flesh. I am in this bed and in this predicament due to my own rebellion and with each wave of agonizing pain I am serving as a visual and physical display of what the consequences are for those who take God's holy things and trample it underfoot. Thankfully, this suffering will end soon and God will set me free. How I wish others could open their eyes and see the snares being set before them by the enemy of their soul and by the power and grace of their Savior escape the horrible and dreadful consequences that await those who continue to flaunt their sin and folly.

Well I've said enough but not as clearly as I would have liked. I pray the spirit of God will illuminate your minds and help you understand what it is He desires for you to comprehend.

Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Solitary Confinement or Quarantine???

2011-03-30T23:48:00.000-04:00

By writing this, I may be opening up a can of worms I may not be able to close or dispel once it is written but writing helps me process emotions and reign in runaway emotions and feelings. Right now I am on the verge of despair and anger. Lean too much one way or the other and you will find me an emotional wreck either direction. At moments these last 48 hours I have found myself a man condemned to Solitary Confinement and at times put into quarantine for the sake of myself and others. Both states of being have left me feeling the loneliest I think I have ever felt yet in my lifetime. Add to all this how I can hardly move from my bed due to the horrendous physical pain I am in right now, I confess to you I am tempted to take an overdose of pills and call it a day. The only reason I have not given into those tendencies is thankfully due to my belief that those who commit suicide may not be guaranteed eternal rest. I say may because in my world there are no absolutes and I try to always leave plenty of gray areas open because I have found it to be more suitable and fertile ground for grace to abide and ultimately conquer.

I don't want to go into details because I'm afraid of further rejection. Let it suffice to say, I am having a hard time accepting and adjusting to being left alone. if it were not for the Home Attendant assigned to me I might literally be alone twenty fours of the day. A drastic change in my living situation. Once five o' clock arrives and Martha says good night I am condemned for the remainder of the night to fend for myself. Not even a text to check in and find out how I'm doing. Since Dinner is now provided by Martha before she leaves for the day, I have not heard or seen a soul knock on my door to inquire if I ate or need anything. All communication has ceased. Just like that I have been forgotten and relegated to my little corner of the world where I lay on my hospital bed and count the hours until daybreak.

I am trying my hardest to be mature about all this and take it all in stride. Forgotten. Left alone to think what it would look like if one morning I was finally looked into simply because I ceased breathing and my spirit was finally set free from this torture chamber it now must abide in.

This is all I am going to say and pray to God for his Holy protection from any jezebel spirits that may rise up against me. For I know this battle is not between flesh and blood but against spiritual strongholds that come and possess bodies. I know all too well about this since I am currently fighting against spirits of rage and offense that are trying to infiltrate my mind and soul. I will not let them in but expose them into the light where they will no longer have a place to hide and fester. I will also remind myself that I am not responsible for the action of others but only my own. I wish to Heaven I had the money to pay my debts but I will lose no sleep or allow myself to feel guilty for an action I did not purposely put into effect. I have more pressing matters to tend to. This physical pain is trying to undo me and I must remain strong in the face of this onslaught. I must confess though that the pain is so brutal I do hope it ends one way or another. Be it through healing or physical death, I welcome them both just the same.

Father, have mercy upon me.

Jesus, breathe on me afresh.

Spirit grant me your power to overcome.

Amen.

Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Wanda the Home Wrecker

2011-03-26T11:37:00.000-04:00

I can't help but feel nothing but absolute hatred and rage towards the woman who is causing my family so much hurt. What infuriates me all the more is that she is a relative- a supposed member of my family. Granted, she is family by marriage and not by blood but all the same I am completely unnerved and indignant at the fact that she is considered family. Until recently, my sister Cindy called her affectionately "Titi" (Spanish slang word used for the more formal "Aunt" or "Tia"). Needless to say, the affection has given way now to contempt, anathema, and vile words such as slut, whore, bitch, hooker, etc. etc.

If I could get my hands around her neck I swear to you I would strangle her until the life in her was extinguished and her spirit yanked into the pit of eternal Hell; the habitation where all unfaithful adulterers and fornicators will burn for all of eternity alongside other evil-doers. I hope all the anal sex she is currently enjoying with my father is well worth it.

If I could just take my mother in my arms and hold her right now! Embrace her and hold her close to myself as I whisper in her ear how much I love her and feel her pain right now. I have felt her pain of betrayal for as long as I can remember. Wanda is by far not the first prostitute my father has laid with and tragically she will not be the last. My philanderer of a father has been unfaithful to my mother since Day one of this monstrous and grotesque marriage. He has also been abusive: verbally, mentally, and physically. As long as I live I will never be able to forget the tragic story my own mother shared with me regarding her honeymoon night. As my mother tells it, she was outside waiting to get into the car that would take my parents to their honeymoon suite. My Uncle Manny who is now deceased was speaking to my dad when my mother made a comment to my father which prompted my Uncle to respond: " And you are going to let her speak to you like that?" My mother says that within seconds all she remembers was the back hand of my father coming down on her cheek with enough force that she remembers losing her balance and almost falling to the ground, soiling her white wedding dress. From that point on the one-sided loveless marriage would be marked by welts and bruises and sometimes blood. The beatings came often, too often, too violent to be ignored or forgotten. Why my mother has continued to put up with his "womanizing" ways all these years is beyond my comprehension. I'm sure I could come up with a myriad of reasons but it won't matter or change anything.

Right now I just want to hate and lash out with all the intensity I can muster and aim it at this promiscuous ugly perverted bitch. I want to hate her for what she has done. I want to physically assault her and rip her to shreds like a pack of ravenous wolves. Yes, rip apart until nothing of this pain and death inside me is left. If only I could erase the pain it is causing my mother right now. The pain she is carrying around in silence is betrayed by her labored breathing (whenever my mother suffers emotional trauma chronic asthma ensues and strikes her down). There is more to this but right now I do not want to get into it right now.

As I write I can sense the presence and affirmation of many nodding their heads in sorrowful understanding. My Father is not the only Casanova out there. Many homes have been wrecked by woman such as Wanda. Nothing new here. How I wish I could easily forgive and move on. I know all about the power of forgiveness. I am aware of the benefits garnered by those who leave things in the Almighty's capable and expert hands. The Master of the Universe is able to heal and transform even the most darkest and hardest of hearts but right now I choose to sit with these turbulent emotions and not fear what may come of it. God will see me through this as He always has. My anchor in the storm of my emotions. May He do the same for those I love and cherish.

Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Involuntary Spasms and Unsolicited Commentaries...

2011-03-24T18:15:00.000-04:00

I met with my Oncologist yesterday and before I was able to make my request to take a few weeks off Dr. Cercek decided that due to my chronic diarrhea I would not get my usual lethal dose that day. I was elated. Instead of chemo I spent the next two hours hooked up to an IV Pole receiving some desperately needed hydration. While I did not get to go home early at least I was spared the liquid fire which has been pumping through my body and destroying everything in sight.

My immune system is dangerously low. This makes me susceptible to a myriad of opportunistic infections. The chronic diarrhea is a result and I have come down with a super infection. Dr. Cercek does not want me to travel at this time. My good friend Andre Ashby already booked me a flight to spend a week with him in Sunny South California. So guess what? I'm going away no matter what the Doc says. Honestly folks, I really don't think my Doctor really knows whats best for me right now. She is doing her best and sadly it is not good enough. We are all learning about this dreadful monster as we go along. That being said, I'm not going to hang on every word Dr. Cercek says. Chemo Hell will be right here where I left it, waiting for me to pick up where I left off.

Nurse Halina came to see me today and she shed some light on the reason why my bladder spasms have increased. According to Halina, any bladder infection such as the one I am currently experiencing will exacerbate and compound these dreaded spasms. I have heard the gamut of reasons as to why this is..."you need to lay flat when you sleep"... "lay on your back"..."drink more and stay hydrated"..."say the alphabet backwards"..."stop eating candy"...etc.etc.etc. I just nod in agreement and pray for patience.

As I head out to the West Coast, I am in the process of getting a roommate to help pay the rent. I have been turned down and denied twice any rental assistance so a roommate seems to be the best solution. As I figure it, I am mostly confined to my bed in my small room so anyone who would come and live here will have ample space and access to walk about and enjoy whatever this apartment has to offer. The sooner someone moves in the better it will be for all. Rent has not been paid since August of last year and the time has come to address this matter before whatever grace extended to me at the present moment runs out and I find myself not only jobless but dreadfully homeless.

Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Looking Forward to Time-Off

2011-03-23T01:22:00.000-04:00

I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder sometime in the mid-nineties. If you have read my story or know anything about my past you will agree with me I walked away from that inferno called my adolescence and childhood pretty much unscathed. It could have been far worse and I will never know here on Earth what Providence had miraculously spared me from. I could have entered adulthood with greater mental instability and psychosis.

Having sought refuge from the hell which reigned at home, I sought refuge in the company of brothers and sisters of my newfound faith in Christ "My Fire and Brimstone" Savior. Looking back in retrospect, I see how that little one story dark paneled church with the long hallway running alongside the right side of the building, had become a refuge to me. A home away from home. I'd be there every Tuesday night for prayer as well as every Thursday, Friday, and all day Sunday actively participating in the nightly services where a group of devout believers would meet and gather in segregated pews. Right side was strictly for the men and the left side of the sanctuary reserved solely for the women of the church. The sexes were prohibited from mixing and intermingling during service times.

The women,who far outnumbered the men in church, seemed to get the raw end of the deal when it came to rules of propriety and devotion. While the men came and went attired in whatever pleased them with the only exception being "no jewelry allowed" the women were not allowed to wear make-up or slacks, jewelry was not permitted and the hair-dos were long and eternally tied into neat buns which came undone in dramatic fashion as the spirit came upon them and each shook like a 7.0 quake of ecstatic and religious abandon. A sight to behold. All in the name of holiness. Yet while we took extra care in how we dressed and needed to abstain from, the inner man remained stunted and immature. It was far easier to govern appearance and attire than to do the deeper work which always demands and requires brutal and honest self introspection.

For many years I felt guilty and ashamed of myself that I was unable to simply trust God and cling to supernatural faith. I would hear stories of how people had been miraculously healed and set free from all types of infirmities and bondages and I would inwardly seethe with anger at myself for not being to walk in that kind of faith. This created a great deal of inner turmoil, not to mention a deep sense of failure at never being able to go at it without the aid of man-made medicine and practices. I can't even begin to tell you how many times I would stop taking the prescribed medicines without the consent of my doctor because I wanted to have "faith" in God and not man. How foolish. Each time I'd get off the anti-depressants it would take me longer each time to get back on track to recovery and stability.

I hope I have learned my lesson as I go about taking a break from chemotherapy. I would hate to have come this far in my recovery and healing only to set myself way off course. I earnestly pray the next few weeks will be exactly what my body was in need of. The neuropathology in my hands and feet is literally consuming me. That alone is reason for a break from treatment.

I'm still believing God for my healing. Honestly, I did not expect it would take this long in coming but my day will surely come. I know it. I believe it. I decree and declare it. I will not die consumed by this Cancer. The agonizing pain that holds me prisoner today will soon have to release me. God loves me way too much to allow me to suffer unnecessarily. Everything under the sun has a purpose and if we will allow ourselves to do the deeper work required of us, we will one day experience freedom and soar like the eagles high above it all. Looking forward to that moment with great joy and celebration and I know you will be right there with me shouting the victory promised to us by the shed blood on calvary.

Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

To take a break or Not is the Question

2011-03-19T20:12:00.001-04:00

My recent post on Facebook where I shared about "considering taking matters into my own hands" has generated a great deal of well-intentioned advice and supportive commentary. Believe me when I tell you I am fully aware of the seriousness and severity of such a decision. The "what it's" are all making themselves known and I am trying to diligently weigh them in the light of the consequences I will face. Everything under the sun has consequences. This forty year old man here is fully aware of that. And how I wish now I had made right choices along the way so as not to have to suffer the devastating consequences of the present. More so, how I wish I could spare people around me the consequences they are undoubtedly building up for themselves by their poor choices. Just as I refused to listen way back then I know I will not be heard today no matter how hard I try.

In getting back to the decision weighing heavily on me, I have spent the last few days pondering what I should do regarding the matter of stopping my chemo. sessions. I guess it all weighs heavily on what my Oncologist will tell me this coming Wednesday when I go for what could be my last chemo. session. I plan on letting her know that I feel my body needs a break. Not indefinitely mind you but long enough for my body to have a chance to heal up for a bit. From the responses I have been getting lately I guess I must have made it sound as if I was saying I would never go back to it. That wasn't what I meant. I just need a break...some time off...a siesta in the middle of my toxic induced days and nights.

It may be too late for my poor nerve endings. Hoping and praying the neuropathy in my feet and hands is not permanent damage. Doctors can't say definitively how long this pain and discomfort will last. Everyone is different and the side effects not only vary but the duration and intensity that each survivor has to endure is completely unpredictable. I'm trying to limit the amount of narcotic painkillers that I become dependent on but I'm afraid I am going to have to speak with my Pain Management Specialist (PMS) Dr. Glare and request to maybe go the next level up in pain management. There are moments and days I wish to my sweet savior I did not have to walk or move my feet. The pain has become so bad I have completely stopped wearing any kind of closed footwear and opted for the feet friendlier open-heeled Crocs. Oh, and did you know there exist"diabetic" socks that have enormous stretchability and softness which gently cover my aching feet? There is a whole world I knew nothing about that suddenly has opened up to me. All thanks to this stabbing persistent pain which has become my uninvited guest.

I say none of this to garner sympathy or as they say in my culture "Ay, Bendito" but to make it plain to you and anyone who cares to know...I need a break! A few weeks of unmolested recovery and uninterrupted rest. Better yet, give me the month of April to close my eyes and rest. Forty days in the desert where I may take off my shoes and allow my feet to walk on holy ground.

Just pray for me and watch from a distance. Let my feet lie on a pillow and slowly mend. That is all. Come May I'll be right back in the torture chamber modern civilization calls the Treatment Suite offering my veins and major arteries to receiving the lethal dose of consequences brought upon by the once reckless and promiscuous actions of a misguided youth who never once stopped to consider how bad things could or would get.

Facebook Status Update: 3/19/11

2011-03-19T18:53:00.001-04:00

Every day I awake with the blessed hope that "today will be the day of my eagerly anticipated physical healing", but as the sun begins to set I once again have to comfort myself with the thought that tomorrow will be the day because I know I have not been forgotten or forsaken. I just need to pray a little harder I guess and not give up hope! Nothing good or worthwhile comes easily.

Update 3/17 @8:57pm

2011-03-17T20:57:00.000-04:00

Facebook Status Update: Keep me in prayer. Planning on taking matters into my own hands and discontinuing Chemotherapy for awhile. This toxin in my body is slowly but surely destroying and damaging the nerve endings in my hands and feet, as well as wreaking havoc in other parts of my body. I need a break...a time to think and regroup.

Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

My Three Amigos in the Valley of Cancer

2011-03-08T20:36:00.000-05:00

Slowly adjusting to having a Home Attendant...very slow. Not sure if this will be the best thing for me in the long run. While I enjoy having another human being I can talk to and someone to assist me with my day-to-day needs I'm not so sure or convinced I may need the assistance. I guess I'm coming with the perspective of someone who every day continues to hope and pray for his complete healing and physical restoration, Miss Amanda may be out of work any day now.

Amanda sat in my room for the bulk of the six hours she was assigned to be with me and in that time as we conversed and got to know each other I found out Amanda hails from Mexico and has been in the United States for the last sixteen years. Her English is very limited. I had requested a Bilingual attendant in the hope of enjoying the daily company of another person of Hispanic ethnicity. I also wanted my parents to be comfortable and at ease during their visits (especially my Dad who after almost half a century in this country has yet to feel the need or urgency to speak English. I guess at this rate he never will). I really wasn't looking forward to speaking mostly Spanish but luckily for me it is not an issue of great concern. I can hold my own in either tongue. "Espanol" it will be I guess.

The only issue that I am starting to realize is that Amanda offered to cook for me if need be but since she hails from South of the Border and it just so happens to be one of my least favorite cuisines, I won't be taking her up on her offer. Unless she can cook American or non-spicy dishes I will not be requesting her to cook any meals for me. I did send her to the corner bakery for freshly baked bread and I will definitely appreciate her running food errands for me since at the present moment my ability to get around and fetch my own things is nowhere near the flexibility it once was, I will definitely count on her for such favors. I am also greatly relieved that I have someone who can walk downstairs and answer the door (another source of inconvenience for me) and fetch me a glass of water whenever I am in need of it. Aside from that, there really isn't much else I require assistance or want help with. I refuse to let anyone bathe me. I can feed myself and as for changing and/or cleaning my colostomy bag, I have learned to do so on my own. As for help around the apartment I discovered today that Home Attendants are not required or expected to do so. It all depends on each individual's personalities when it comes to such tasks. By the look of things I don't think I'll be getting any help from Amanda in this department. Good thing I am fiercely independent and for the most part keep everything tidy and in its place. This latter part will no doubt cause my parents to complain and criticize the poor woman. My mother thinks Home Attendants are put here on earth to be pseudo-maids and servants. She will undoubtedly freak when she finds out Amanda prefers to sit nearby and keep me company rather than grab a mop or broom. The same goes for my Dad. Case in point, I was assigned a guy this past weekend when my parents were here for a visit. After a few hours of immobility on the part of the attendant, my dad came into the room and asked me in a loud voice: "Is he your friend or your worker because I haven't seen him do a damn thing since he walked through the door!" How embarrassing. I immediately apologized on behalf of my father. Luckily the young man was well aware of his duties and made it clear that he was not hired to clean or provide maid service. Home attendants only provide light maintenance work (i.e. washing any utensils used by the client during their particular shift) and assisting clients with their medical and physical needs. Needless to say, my father refused to accept ths and insisted they do more than just keep clients company.

Well, we shall see how things go. Tomorrow will be a full house at the Chemotherapy appointment. Luis, my good friend and spiritual brother will be here to pick me and transport me to and from medical appointment. He also remains with me for the entire time I am at the doctor's office. The same goes for my beloved Heather whom I affectionately have nicknamed my "Chemo. wife" since she usually shows up to my appointments and keeps me company from beginning to end. Now add my Home Attendant who is assigned to me for six hours a day and viola I will have a full entourage with me as I go about the business of receiving chemotherapy, getting blood work and vitals done, as well as meeting with my Doctor for my bi-weekly follow-up and check-up. Sadly I have a feeling I may have to say farewell to at least one or two individuals.

As much as I love the company, the chemo. cubicle is much too small for four of us (not counting the nursing staff) to comfortably fit in. Truth be known, as my strength increases I have been looking forward to attending my appointments increasingly more independently and on my own. As soon as my Access-a-Ride privileges are in place I was planning on going solo since I am eager to get back to more of a sense of the independence I lost and was taken from me when my health took a turn for the worst. Once I am able to reserve and fully use the transportation services offered by Access-a-Ride I intend to only utilize Luis during occasions when I am required an escort in order to leave the premises (usually required after procedures requiring the use of sedatives and anastesia).

Well, I guess that is all i want to write for now. Need to prepare for tomorrow. Thanks for stopping by and feel free to leave your encouraging comments. I am so blessed to be alone in this world yet so well loved and always in the best of company. I am a lucky, lucky man, Cancer or no Cancer!
Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

New and improved I desire to Be!

2011-03-08T00:23:00.001-05:00

Still feeling horrible about having to delete people from my Facebook page. It is with that in mind that I want to make every effort to keep those who follow me on my blog page just as informed as those on Facebook. Yes, new and improved is my goal.
The challenge lies in the fact that Chemotherapy has compromised and caused nerve damage. Using my hands is a painful ordeal at times. Who would have thought the simple act of typing would be so painful? Sucks. But where there is a will there is a way and it should be known that as much as people appreciate my updates on Facebook, I in turn appreciate the wave of encouragement which comes from the responses. I find encouragement and solace in and through the well-wishes of others. I have been blessed with wonderful friends and supporters. I am deeply encouraged to run this race with perseverance.
I purchased a flip video cam in the hope of adding this new element to keeping everyone updated and in the know of things. I also want to keep a video library of how my health progresses. Let's hope it pans out that way.
Well, tomorrow is another day and I wonder who will be arriving to serve as my home attendant. It is a bit nerve-wracking because who knows who I will end up with. Their is certain level of risk involved whenever you allow and welcome a perfect stranger into your home. I just hope whomever it may be that they will be found to be trustworthy, hard working and reliable. I can only hope and pray so. Yet another opportunity to continue to trust and depend on God to take care and protect you. He shall. He has never let me down. This I can be assured of.
May He continue to give me strength to persevere and endure. A bit of self-control and discipline will also serve me well in keeping this blog up and current. Deep down I hope to leave a vivid testament of God's abiding faithfulness and a visible record of my personal growth and maturity in the face of difficulties and trials. It is ever important to continually encourage oneself and remain positive in all circumstances.

In the Meantime...

2010-12-27T23:20:00.001-05:00

As I lay here and wait for healing to manifest itself from the countless prayers being offered up daily on my behalf, I wrestle with this demon called depression. As much as I hate to admit it and give voice to it, I am one seriously depressed brother. It is killing me to have to accept I am powerless to move this process along. No matter how much I pray and others pray for me, I cannot move things along any further or any faster. Healing will come when healing comes. I have not the secret formula or gimmick to speed up this most painful and excruciatingly agonizing experience.
As much as I want to go at this alone like many other experiences dominated by the single and unmarried life, this dreaded tumor keeps me dependent on others, who ultimately may or may not be there for me when it is needed most. As grateful as I am for the many volunteers who have stepped forward and stepped into the role of caretaker and provider, there are times I still find myself alone and desperately seeking for someone, anyone, to step in and assist me. Truth be known, I cannot do anything alone or independently of others when it pertains to this dreaded cancer. I no longer can get around without the physical assistance of another being. My car sits idle in a garage while I have to depend on people to chauffeur me back and forth to and from my medical appointments. I have to depend on what I affectionately have termed "Chemo wives" to escort me to my appointments. I attempted to go at it alone once but in all reality just wasn't able to. Depressing.
I require another human being to sit with me and assist with basic needs. Getting around is slow and only adds to the physical pain I am presently experiencing. What a welcomed sight and relief it is to me when someone else comes alongside me and provides me with much needed assistance, Yet more often than not, I find myself having to go at it solo. I've had my share of lonely days at home. Being alone when your mobility is limited is downright depressing! When getting out of bed and walking thirty paces to retrieve a glass of water turns into a triathlon or walking down a flight of stairs to open a door turns into what I can only equate with climbing Mt. St. Helens, then you will begin to understand why having another human being with you is beyond helpful but necessary, you will begin to see why two is better than one.
My poor parents, who have been keeping me company since this whole ordeal began, have begun to lose steam. At their age and living out-of-state, all the back and forth seems to have worn them out to the point that they now come up with excuses for not being able to stick around for more than a few days at a time (a far cry from the three week stints they used to commit to). With that said, they'll be heading back home bright and early Saturday morning, leaving me to fend for myself once again. I honestly wish I could pack up and leave with them.
No matter how much others around me may attempt to fill the void at the end of the day, I am left alone to do my best.
I honestly don't want to be depressed about this. There have been worse situations I have been in and seen myself out of. This will be, no doubt, yet another experience to live and tell about. Depression may seep in and bring me down but it will not overcome me! This I do promise to myself. I will find creative ways to fight off these feelings and inconveniences. Spending time in Massachusetts at my parents home will not be possible right now since I have too many medical appointments to tend to here at home. I will simply have to buckle down and turn the "blahs" into an arsenal of bountiful blessings. I will overcome just like I was designed to do. Not in my own strength, of course, but with the might of the Holy Spirit. And in the meantime, never, ever give up hope that others will come to my rescue and ultimately I will not go through any part of this journey alone.
He did not bring me out this far to leave me, nor forsake me, but to display His glory and splendor for all to see and believe.

Just in Time because He is never Late

2010-12-27T22:13:00.001-05:00

I have been battling cancer since October 2008. Having withstood and endured both the ravages of chemotherapy and radiation, I received the "all clear" sign sometime in June '09. Unfortunately for me, the pain of cancer had only subsided somewhat long enough to give me and my medical caretakers the false impression that I was well on the road to full recovery. Sadly, the tumor not only re-emerged but it had become more aggressive and had metastasized to other vital organs, which translated into greater pain and the added inconvenience of a catheter and colostomy which may or may not be permanent.

I grew up hearing a saying In Spanish..."Dios aprieta, pero no ahoga"... "God tightens, but He never drowns you". Basically, it was ingrained in me that no matter how bad things get, there is always a way out. This has been my attitude in dealing with this dreaded cancer. Countless tears have been shed and not a day goes by that I do not hope and pray will be the end of my fiery trial.

While I am tempted to scream at the top of my lungs: "I'm drowning, oh God!!!" I quickly realize what a waste of time this would be since I'm dealing with a God who thankfully does not see things from my limited point of view. He is all about stretching you and tearing you down in order to build you back up again while everything in me wants to run and hide and place the blame elsewhere. He sees the end result. He guarantees complete victory...no matter what.

It would be a damn shame to be so close to obtaining gold only to have thrown the towel in prematurely. This thought alone keeps me going, keeps me enduring, holding on. That and the sincere belief that although this body may be falling apart and in need of constant pain relief, in the end, I will live to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

I am hanging on out of pure conviction that God is never late, never early, but ALWAYS on time. Call me a fool but I'm putting all my eggs in one basket and counting them too even before they hatch (the two things I have always been advised against) simply because I believe that God will come to my rescue and deliver me. Just in time because He is never late.
Never late.
Never.

What's COOKING in The CATHETER CALDROUN?

2010-11-10T02:06:00.000-05:00

I am angry. The only problem is I don't know at what or whom. All the same, I am fuming. I want to break something. Hit something so hard it shatters into a million pieces. Hoping one of those pieces has the relief I am desperately crying out for. M friend, I just don't know if I can do this anymore. I want to be the face of endurance and strength but every passing day brings me closer to embracing and making the end my friend and ally.

I know I am letting many people down. I'm letting myself down in many ways too but I just can't stand against the pain any longer. I don't want to face another day of mustering every ounce of "fuerza" inside me and forging onward. Onward, Christian soldier...

Maybe if I put a face to this excruciating agony, maybe then you will understand what I am standing up against on a daily basis.

My tumor has grown to the extent and proportion that it has created a complete blockage and stricture in my urethral canal. Where you and I were created to urinate with ease from, no longer an option or luxury for me. Yet my body, after thirty-nine years of living and daily flowing out of one place and direction now finds a "Do Not Enter" signposted in crimson bold letters. Still the urine persists and insists in coming out as it was created by the almighty to function. Imagine the pain and discomfort at having a gushing flow racing and pressing up against a brick wall only to finally manage having two or three drops make it out of you. Have I painted a vivid enough picture for you?

The chemotherapy drugs I have injected into my body on a weekly basis have turned the liquids and fluids inside me into a fiery and hot concoction. My urine feels like fire coming out of me. Or better yet, it feels like passing a thousand sharp knives through the smallest slit in your body. Every drop that makes it out is like a stab wound against my tender flesh. Maybe I should be thankful that only two or three drops make it out because I would hate to experience what it would be like to have a thousand knives or razor blades exiting me all at once. I remember vividly when this was the daily and often practice. Before the stricture and blockage, during my first round of radiation and chemo., I had to endure urinating what I have described to you here. In order to spare my family and friends the sound of my hellish screams, I'd stuff a rag into my mouth or cry into the crook of my arm. Taking a piss with copious tears was the norm for me then. Now I have a suprapubic catheter installed to help the urine flow on a daily basis. Unfortunately for me, the catheter must be changed and placed every four to six weeks. Thus far I've had it done twice (today having been the unfortunate and hellish second time).

Mark my words when I tell you here in writing as I have already made it known verbally to my uncaring urology team, I WILL NOT UNDERGO ANOTHER CATHETER CHANGE unless I am unconscious. I will never again subject my body to the horror I endured today at the hands of a medical staff who either thought my piercing screams and uncontrollable tears an act, a coward unable to man up and take it like a man. Of yeah? Fuck you and your mother who birthed you is all I have to say! I WILL NOT UNDERGO ANOTHER CATHETER CHANGE while I am still conscious and alert. I just won't. The pain was absolutely hellish and any procedure that causes me to cry out: "Take me home, Lord, if this is what I have to put up with!!!?" I will not be subjected to without a fight. And fight I will. Fight or Flight. I'd rather fight while I still have it in me to do.

While I am remorseful at having lashed out and physically become agitated to the point of becoming physically violent and defiant, I stand by my decision. While I still have strength in me to fight I will do so and object to further pain. This is the cross I must bear but I simply cannot be led like lamb to the slaughter in silence. While Jesus had it in him not cry out and never utter a word, I on the other hand have not achieved the level of suffering which He did and modeled for mankind on the cross. I guess the anger stems from my inability to perfectly imitate my Savior and thus feel like I have let Him, myself, and the myriad of others who look to me to be he rock of Gibraltar during these given situations. All the morphine in the world was not able to assuage and keep my pain at bay. I guess it has a mind of its own.

Jesus, help me. Put your strong arms around me and comfort me as you alone know how to do.

Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

When Royalty has to beg for Bread

2010-11-07T23:53:00.000-05:00

I'm definitely the type of guy who needs to touch base with his emotions on a daily basis. It is very important to daily gauge where I am at with my feelings. If I don't do this I begin to unravel and slowly slide into negativity and self-doubt. This has been happening this week and I despise how it makes me feel. I have been questioning every move or action I have taken. I am frustrated to say the least.

I've become accustomed to the around the clock physical pain I have been experiencing for months now. If it were not for the daily regimen of Morphine I honestly don't think I'd still be here. Most definitely, I would have begged the Lord to take me home by now. Simple as that. I may come across as a trooper who admittedly has a high threshold for pain but deep down I am a coward who cringes at the thought of being in agony. Truth be known, I have stuck with this present ordeal because deep down I believe I am being tested by God and in the end if I do not faint and throw in the towel, I will be rewarded with complete healing. I hope I am right. I pray I am not mistaken and soon will see the rich reward of obedience manifested in a pain free existence.

You can just imagine the utter disappointment and disillusionment at receiving the unwanted news that this cancer has spread into my bones. This explains Dr. Nash's insistence for the surgical removal of my pelvic bones. I turned it down because I could not be given any guarantee that the cancer would not spread or come back. Besides, my quality of life would be greatly diminished which is something I am not looking forward to one bit. My life has already been altered to the point where I spend most of my time confined to my bed. Since I don't go anywhere, my car has been put away in the garage. My wardrobe has been transformed to pajamas and a bathrobe. The only time I get dressed nowadays is when I have a doctor's appointment, chemotherapy session, or to attend church on Sundays. Overnight my life has been transformed and reduced to existing within small confined spaces.

In order to stave off the pain I have been put on a frequent daily regimen of morphine and dilaudid pills. Every two hours my alarm goes off and I pop at least ten tiny dilaudud pills along with morphine tablets every eight hours. The result of all this intake has been severe drowsiness and slumber. I have been transformed into a bear hibernating for the winter. To say I sleep more than I am awake is an understatement. My deep concern and fear with this is that I will slip into a comatose induced deep sleep and never fully recover from it. Heaven forbid. There is so much I want to accomplish. Unfortunately I can't do much while sleeping.

Lastly, with the sudden loss of employment I have been catapulted into financial despair. I am still in the process of applying for long-term Social Security benefits which is made all the longer when I am sleeping when I should be gathering the paperwork needed in order to apply and be approved. It amazes me how it is expected of sick people to go about this long process by themselves. Or maybe others have assistance which I don't. The Social Worker assigned to me by the Visiting Nurse Service I am enrolled in seems not to have the passion or concern required to make things happen. So what if I have no income? So what if the bills unpaid? So what? Hey, so what if I am weeks away from having no medical insurance whatsoever? I have been reduced to begging for small donations from family and friends in order to meet some of the financial expenses piling up before me. I guess the Lord is teaching me great humility and patience. I just wish I didn't feel like a such a beggar when I am supposed to be royalty. Somewhere there has been a serious disconnect and I am feeling very much like the tail and not the head. And you know what compounds these feelings all the more? When I finally get around to asking for help and I get a line of questioning in return. I hate being made to feel like I am applying for donations and offerings. I completely understand how we are in tough economic times and not everyone has it to give. All I ask is for a simple "sorry, no can do right now" and leave it at that. Believe me I am not taking any of the money I receive to go off on a night on the town or to buy me a pair of Michael Jordans (are those still being sold, anyway?)

I'm sick, in pain, fighting for my life, and reduced to a pauper who has to beg for hand-outs. Life is good I tell you. I feel so worthy right about now. Maybe going to sleep and slipping into eternal slumber might not be such a bad thing after all. The dead do not have to worry about a thing. Yet here I lie determined to suck up whatever pride I have left and keep living with dignity. Jesus help me.

Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Whose Report will I believe?

2010-11-02T20:51:00.000-04:00

I wonder if my physical drowsiness and constant sleep is a sign or reflection of my spiritual condition? Is someone above trying to get my attention about something? Can't help but wonder right about now if my lamp is full, empty, or neither. I'd like to say it is full but how can I gauge whether I am being truthful or not. I've realized how much of a propensity I have to say things to myself which will make me feel good about myself. Sometimes I think I have taken all the emotional lessons learned during my seeking professional counseling days too far. It's one thing to speak and affirm positive declarations to yourself but it is something all together detrimental to do so when we are flat out lying to ourselves. To say I am healed while I am still very much ill would be one thing but it would be another thing to say "I am healed" and walk away from receiving any further treatment. Foolishness. Take it from me, I learned my lesson well in regard to this.

I have spent the bulk of my life dealing with depression. I have been certifiably diagnosed as having "major-depressive disorder". I used to think and had mistakenly diagnosed myself as being bi-polar. It was during my three month stint at the Elmhurst Hospital Psych. Ward, back in 2002, where I was finally made to understand what type of depression I was being afflicted by. I always look back at this time period as a turning point and significant milestone in my life. I was finally ready, willing, and able to deal with my issues. Instead of running from them or worse, draping myself with some spitiual mumbo jumbo declaration about being healed when I really wasn't. I am all for declaring and having faith and confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see (Hebrews 11:1) but I will never get to where I need to be if I don't do what is required of me. In order to overcome depression it required more than just speaking God's truth (a must) and renewing my mind (imperative) but I also had to take the extra step and commit to faithfully working stuff out with a professional counselor(s). Part of that also called for popping anti-depressants on a daily basis. Looking back, it all seemed so easy but in reality the work unto emotional health was ugly and at times down-right frightening. There were times I actually thought that facing the facts would literally crush me and kill me. Thankfully, Holy Spirit was there every step of the way to grant me breakthrough and ultimate victory. Did I mention how every time I weaned myself or abruptly stopped taking my medication, within two weeks I was downright suicidal, ready to take my life at a moment's notice? Again, Jesus had to lead me gently by the hand and convince me how important and necessary it was to adhere to a daily regimen of anti-depressants. Once I was finally able to understand and identify religious people's well meaning but damaging advice about "claiming my complete healing and walking away cold turkey from any and all medications" as harmful to me, then was I able to experience the equilibrium and mental clarity necessary to move into wholeness. I have become a staunch supporter of those who marry their faith with the gift of science granted from above in order to achieve healing. Some people don't agree with this but I have found it works in my life just fine. I am looking forward to the day when God's power breaks out in such a way that "supernatural" healing will be the norm and not the exception. I am counting on being there in the flesh to serve as a living witness, as a sign and a wonder to God's restorative healing power. Until then, you better believe I am going to adhere to my daily regimen of Wellbutrin, Sustiva, Valtrex, Tricor, Onandasetron, MS Contin, Hydromorphone, etc. and whatever other pill is prescribed to me in order to prolong my life and keep this temple breathing, loving, and laughing among the living.

"The kingdom suffers violence and the violent take it by force". I may be wrong in my personal interpretation of this scripture and that is okay since I believe this revelation was given to me by God so that I might understand the season I am living in. It clearly speaks to me that if I am going to be healed and be set free from the ravages of cancer, well, I am going to have to fight for it....with violence if necessary. I received the news today that my cancer has spread to my pelvic bone region. I'm reading up on the whole metastatic bone cancer thing as I write this. Trying to figure out what I need to do. How do I incorporate my faith with natural methods of healing? I have been bombarded lately with suggestions and possible solutions but ultimately it rests in my hands what I am to do.

I refuse to accept that this is how God wants to call me home. Cancer will have no part in my life. I am not going out this way! Forget about all the things yet to be accomplished and fulfilled, I cannot manipulate God to do as I say. If it were so, He would not be God or at least not a God worth giving your life wholeheartedly to. I will keep reminding Him of His word which does not return back void but I will keep believing in faith that He is for me and not against me...that if we being mortals know how to give our children good gifts how much more will my Heavenly Father grant me above and beyond what "we" are asking Him for.

Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

When Cancer Overstays it Welcome

2010-10-31T09:57:00.000-04:00

The mother of a young brother at my church was laid to rest yesterday. Cancer claimed her body but thankfully not her soul. Someone I deeply admire and marvel at seeing her amazing talents and gifting wrote about it today. I just happened to run into it and now here I sit in a puddle of hot tears. Anything cancer related nowadays has a way of grabbing my attention and makes me sit up and take notice. All for selfish reasons, mind you. I am not weeping because Mike's mom passed away but I am shedding tears at the thought of what it will be like when my turn comes up. "How long do I have left?" is the question I find marching in syncopated precision. Every time I wake up from one of my Morphine induced comatose naps I can't help but want to kick myself at having wasted precious time sleeping. More than ever, I feel like I am in a race against time. Time may be running out for me and I'm spending most of it sleeping! Honest to God, how I wish someone, anyone would give me an exact, or at least an accurate prediction of how much time I have left before the lights of this world fade and I am enticed by the far more brilliant light of my Savior; the only literal light source on the other side where sickness and disease will never again harm anything or anyone!

I am not upset in the least "if" cancer is the chosen vessel to ferry me over to the other side. Not in the least. I can honestly bear the pain and ravages of this monstrous disease. The benefits and blessings coming from this experience are far outweighing the negative things afflicting me temporarily. Besides, I have, thus far, strong allies on my side and at my disposal. I have a worldwide army praying for me (literally). I have amazing friends surrounding me, believing and agreeing with me that this cancer must shrivel up and die without taking me with it. I even have the support of my parents who have practically moved in with me in order to look after my daily personal needs. Yes, my friend, I am covered on all sides and feel completely loved and treasured. Yet, I have this present love-hate relationship with Morphine. I love how it keeps pain at bay. What I hate is how it causes me to sleep for an inordinate amount of time, which to me translates into a waste of precious time. Not much is accomplished while asleep (at least not what I feel needs to get done). Sadly, when it comes to my bodies response to sleep, l lose each and every time. This morphine will sucker punch me every two hours as I ingest it into my body. I know, I know, I need to focus on the positive aspects. And I will....I'm just letting off some steam so it doesn't build up and cause me or some innocent by-stander unnecessary grief along the way.

I have clearly stipulated in my last will and testament my wishes to be cremated. I'm hoping and praying my family honors my request. I've asked for half of my remains to be disposed off of the Brooklyn Bridge since it symbolizes where I was born and raised. The remainder of my ashes are to be scattered over in Puerto Rico since this is where my ancestors and heritage derives from. I have yet to bring it to my parents attention but I need to do so, sooner than later. I pray things go much more smoothly this time around. The last time I brought it up (a few years ago) my mother vehemently protested the whole cremation idea, which is why it prompted me to get it in writing.

I will be the first among my family to be cremated...ever. The reason why my mother is against cremation is not so much that my corpse will be burned but she will not have a physical place to go and visit such as like a traditional grave site. I've explained to her she can purchase a plot or space in a mausoleum where she can visit. She doesn't seem to think this is good enough of a solution. I've explained to her and gone into the whole "I won't be there anymore" speech but she refuses to reason with me. This has always been my problem with my mother; her obsessive idolatry of me as her "baby boy". This has caused my sisters a great deal of resentment and emotional grief. My sister Cindy has been known to throw it squarely in my face how I am "el favorito de mami" (mom's favorite) and how she worships the ground I walk on. I've done my part in apologizing and trying to help her see how I detest this about my mother since I believe it only brings God's displeasure when we put anything above him as number one. Yet this is another matter mom doesn't seem to want to recognize or acknowledge. The woman lives enshrouded by a thick and heavy layer of denial. I feel sorry for her but realize I can't do a thing to change her. I only have the power to change myself. Loving and accepting people where they are in life is easier said than done. I guess this is why we don't get to choose the families we are born into since they are given to us for a reason and purpose. Our family members are not coincidental but divinely orchestrated and put in place for that very reason. Iron sharpen iron and so forth.

In the event that the executor of my will is not able to see my wishes for cremation granted, I have added a stipulation that any and all funeral viewings be carried out with a closed casket. I just don' t want anyone's lasting or final memory of me to be that of my lifeless body laid out with my make-up all wrong. I guess even in death I will be vain (lol). In the end, of course none of this will matter to anyone. This corruptible and decaying flesh will be no more! I will be free at last to live all of eternity in a glorified and transformed body. No more pain. No more deformities. No more prosthetic body parts. Can't wait! Then again, yes I can since I want to stick around and see God's promises to me fulfilled. All the more reason and witnessing proof to my spirit that this cancer is not mine to keep for much longer. Yes, I have a destiny I know I must fulfill. I have a name I have yet to bring more glory and honor to so that when I finally am called home I will hear loud and clear: "Well done good and faithful servant!"

Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Zombieland Frustration

2010-10-28T22:55:00.002-04:00

Every two hours I have to take anywhere between six to ten "dilaudid" pills in order to keep myself from having any moderate to severe pain. Every eight hours I also have to pop 200mg. of MS Contin in order to stay pain-free. My prayers have been answered, sort of.

I am making every effort to be thankful and not complain. The problem I am encountering is the frequency and high amount of dosage I am being subjected to. My alarm clock goes off every two hours, at which time I reach for my "D" pills and after ingesting them go into "Zombie" mode. These pills make me so drowsy that in writing this short blog I have fallen asleep at least three times. Yup, I just zonk out. I haven't timed myself but it lasts anywhere from two to twenty minutes. Can you see how frustrating that could be especially when I am trying to complete a task? Arghhhhhh...... frustrating, indeed.

The present dosage came about from my most recent stay at the Hospital. In order to gauge and determine the correct magnitude of dosage, I was connected to a Pain Pump and told to press the button every time I needed relief from the pain. This way the Pain Management Team was able to better assess and determine the frequency and correct dose needed in order to ... (oh, oh, nap time)...
Four Minutes later: I'm back. Now where was I? Well, you get what I am experiencing as of late, which is why I even took a day to refrain from providing status updates on Facebook.

I am in la-la land and it is frustrating me beyond words can describe to you right now. Oh well, at least I am pain-free! More importantly and worthy of a celebratory shout is my ability to sit. Yup, I am ecstatically overjoyed in announcing to you that my 87 days of being horizontally (...here we go again...be right back)

I forgot to time how long I snoozed but I'm back. Now where was I? Oh yeah, the tumor afflicting me has grown to the point where it now protrudes somewhere in the vicinity where my scrotum and testicles mostly reside...undisturbed. TMI, I know but this is my sad reality. My cancer is not dignified in the least. Others can say without shame: " I have lung, breast, liver, etc. cancer. Even the mention of rectal or colon cancer is far more acceptable and dignified than " I have Anal Cancer". My tumor is growing and originated in my ass...my anus. Talk about humbling. Add to that, how I have not been able to sit or participate in any activity which requires me to sit (that is about 90% of what we do, day in and day out). Praise God those days are over!

Cancer claimed yet another life today. A dear brother from my church, Michael Betancourt, lost his dear mother to this monster. Mike and his wife, Jem, stopped by for a brief visit while I was ....
hospitalized. Mike shared with me how his Mom only had days left...
I received the sad news today that she passed into the next life sometime after twelve noon....

I'm fading fast so I will leave it here and simply end with how increasingly angry I am at this damn Cancer. God, come to our rescue! Have mercy on us and pour out out a tsunami wave of healing and deliverance, in Jesus Name!!!
Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Bloody Frustrations

2010-10-19T23:45:00.000-04:00

To say I am becoming increasingly frustrated with this tumor is an understatement. It refuses to shrink and it is increasingly creating more pain and discomfort to my body on a daily basis. I visited my Urologist today and I left feeling a bit defeated and trapped. Dr. Sandhu was not able to provide me with any viable solutions to my dilemma. I shared with him how I am experiencing sudden spasms of intense pain more and more frequently. I was truly hoping the doctor would be able to provide me with a certain measure of lasting relief. Unfortunately, all he was able to offer me was the same song and dance..."the tumor is creating havoc inside you." Dr. Sandhu offered to increase my dosage of pain medication but I turned it down. I am having a very hard time with taking a larger dose since it tends to make me feel all out of it. I hate feeling like a zombie. But it seems I am going to have to start getting used to this until the tumor finally subsides and diminishes. Please God, let it shrink and whither away.

I took the following photos in order to show Dr. Sanhu what I was dealing with at home. The first photo shows what the toilet bowl looks like after I'm done using it. The problem is not so much the blood which comes out of with my urine but the fact that I have a superpubic catheter installed. I should not be urinating on my own at all. Now get ready for this, the urine is coming out of my anus!!! WTF??? I was petrified when it first happened. I thought something seriously wrong was happening to me. To my relief the Oncology nurse told me this happens sometimes to people stricken with my type of cancer. (This was later confirmed by both Doctor Sandhu and Dr. Chung).

(1) bloody urine

(2) Blood in my catheter tube.

(3) Blood soaked catheter bag.

(4) Traveling in style in the back seat of dad's car.

God does not give us any burden we cannot carry. He is just. Therefore, it is my conclusion he will get me through this somehow and by any means necessary . In the midst of the pain I will continue to remind myself of these truths and trust Him with the final outcome. I will also consider it a "blessing of leisure and rest" the fact that I am unable to sit down because of the location and size of my tumor.

"God, you are my strength. Thank you for never leaving me or forsaking me. Amen."

Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Death and Angels

2010-10-19T05:16:00.001-04:00

I'm not afraid of dying. Passing over from this life to the next has always had a wonderful fascination for me. I'm talking even before I came down with Cancer and faced the very real prospect that death might just sting me at any given moment. I guess since I do not associate death with more pain, but a final release of pain and the beginning of euphoric bliss, makes the whole process of dying a welcomed and celebratory event. We read countless stories and see varying depictions of what it will be like to "cross over". You know...the whole light in the tunnel scenario, spirits lifting out of bodies, etc. All quite very exciting if you ask me. Which is why it leaves me dumbfounded and saddened to encounter the utter dread and horror the subject matter brings on when death is mentioned to some people; my mother being a prime example. Mom absolutely refuses to talk about it. She will not even, for a second, entertain the whole notion of dying. Believe me, I have tried to broach the subject, all to no avail. The woman will literally walk out of the room and during those instances she is not able to, she will verbally demand the subject not be discussed.
"...Por favor, habla de otra cosa plees!" she will demand. End of conversation.

The reason why I bring this up is simply because yesterday was an excruciatingly painful day. It seemed that the slightest movement caused me such agony and at times torment that I must confess to you I found myself at one point drenched in tears, verbally crying out to God for mercy. I hate when it gets to this stage. I hate it because after the pain does subside and is brought under control, I feel like such a coward. I know I have every right to feel the way I do and crying out for relief is the obvious thing to do but it messes with me for some reason. Those vulnerable moments of physical agony later make me wonder and question my ability to persevere. Maybe I'm just being too hard on myself but I can't help but feel like such a "punk" for not taking it like a man and holding it in. I recognize this as vestiges of my own dysfunction growing up with a chauvinistic father and from countless reinforcements from a mother who always reminded me "Boys don't cry!" or "stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about!" and my favorite and most hurtful comment hurled my way..."there you go again, crying. I swear you should have been born the girl and not your sister! Shut up, Magdalena!"
Thank God I can sit here and no longer be adversely affected by such hurtful and ignorant comments.

Along with great physical pain come moments of mental escape where I allow myself the luxury of thinking about the finality of this earthly existence. It soothes my pain to envision my final moments here on Earth. I'll let you in into my creative imagination and briefly describe to you what I think those final moments will look like to me. I'm curious to know if anyone else has ever daydreamed about this. If so, please share and let me know because that way I will not feel like such an oddball.

When death finally comes I envision myself lying in bed, oblivious to the presence of mortals but keenly aware and in tune with the increasing presence of angels. One by one, they start to fill the room with their warm soft light, each one serving the purpose of helping my spirit and soul to finally let go. Angelic beings start to fill the room as the light increases in the room and my ability to rise up and out of my body takes hold. But I do not fully do so until at last the head guardian angel assigned to me in life enters the room and without uttering a word reaches out to take hold of my hand. This the final signal to my mortal body that it is allowed to give up my spirit. Once and for all, I breathe my last breath and am finally free and ready for eternity with my Jesus. The rest is a mystery to me. Will I be able to stick around and watch my loved ones lay my remains to rest (or scatter in my case)? Will I immediately meet dearly departed relatives and friends? Will I literally have to go towards the light in the tunnel scenario? Or will I be immediately transported into the Heavenly Courts? Quien sabe...who knows? But I'm longing to find out.

I am hoping my wish to be cremated will be honored and I will not have to be physically put in the ground. More importantly, I hope and pray there will not be a viewing of my remains. I'm just too vain and would hate for anyone's last memory or sight of me to be something completely misrepresenting of what I was like when vivo.

Morbid? Not at all. Death is a natural progression of things and whether I live another ten, twenty, or fifty years, the moment will finally arrive some day. It is true what they say, death is the one true equalizer. When I am wracked in pain and agony, can you blame me for wanting to escape? I still don't know why I've been allowed to experience the ravages of cancer when it doesn't even run in my family but hey, I believe with all my heart that I will be rewarded for every second of pain I will have to endure here on this Earth. God is fair and just. I can handle this as long as I keep things in perspective and realize how temporal and brief this all is in comparison to what lies ahead. Earth is temporal, Heaven is eternal. So when you ask where I get my strength to endure, it comes from knowing what I have shared with you here. Godless men in the Book of Revelations Chapter 16: 4-11 refused to repent and glorify God because of the searing pain they were subjected to. To me it is obvious they did not know the person of Jesus as I have come to know him and sadly, tragically allowed their temporal pain to blind them of the opportunity to glorify God. May this never be said of me...ever! No matter how bad it gets. And believe me, I have a feeling its going to get much worse before I can finally experience the better.

Are you afraid of death? Do you know what to do in order to be set free of such fear? Can you trust God even when things seem to be going against you and your every cry for relief seems to go unanswered?

"The third angel poured out his bowl on the rivers and springs of water, and they became blood. 5Then I heard the angel in charge of the waters say: 

   "You are just in these judgments, 

      you who are and who were, the Holy One, 

      because you have so judged; 

 6for they have shed the blood of your saints and prophets, 

      and you have given them blood to drink as they deserve."

 7And I heard the altar respond: 

   "Yes, Lord God Almighty, 

      true and just are your judgments." 

8The fourth angel poured out his bowl on the sun, and the sun was given power to scorch people with fire. 9They  were seared by the intense heat and they cursed the name of God, who  had control over these plagues, but they refused to repent and glorify  him. 

 10The fifth  angel poured out his bowl on the throne of the beast, and his kingdom  was plunged into darkness. Men gnawed their tongues in agony 11and cursed the God of heaven because of their pains and their sores, but they refused to repent of what they had done."

Revelations 16:4-11

Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Let Not My Father's Sins Become My Sins

2010-10-16T04:57:00.000-04:00

"You are so loved, Idilio" has been told to me a great deal lately. I couldn't agree more. This illness has brought out the best in people. Everyone wants to do something, anything, to help ease my pain. This includes my own biological family.

My parents, thus far, have been here for me as I battle this cancer. They have put aside their own marital problems and presented themselves as a united front (or at least they are trying to do so). My father seems to have put his short fused temper and explosive anger under tight control so as not to cause me any stress or anxiety, For the time being, he has even put aside his now publicly known affair with my uncle's wife. It almost makes me want to believe he is actually capable of changing his womanizing ways. He just might be successful at fidelity in his senior years is what I'd like to leave this world believing but I'm quickly reminded by all my friends and acquaintance who lay eyes on him for the first time that he is much too handsome for that to be the case. El mundo esta lleno de tentaciones. The world is full of temptation. And he simply has no self-control. Never has and sadly I have lost any hope he ever will.

Women find my father very attractive and handsome at first sight. I can't even begin to tell you how it makes me feel inside when I hear my many women friends immediately comment on his good looks. What used to be a source of great pride has given way to downright disgust and aversion. I cringe when people mention how good looking my father is. I've even had some friends say to my face "He looks better than you!" The comment is usually followed by laughter which I have learned to accept as their cue that the comment was said in jest. Yet when it is said enough times it no longer produces the pride I once felt at hearing such a nice compliment paid to the old man. "Thanks. Should I hook up a date or quickie while we are on the subject?" is what I sometimes wish I was able to sarcastically respond. But conventional wisdom and proper etiquette in a given situation wins the day and I too laugh it off. I'm not sure why it bothers me so much nowadays. It is no exaggeration that if as the saying goes: "If I had a dollar" for every female or gay friend who has ever made mention of Dad's good looks I might just have enough to pay off one of my credit cards.

I lied. I do know why it bothers me so much. Such commentary only reminds me of the fact that my Father has lived his whole life using his good looks to get what he wants from the women who will give it to him. As long as I have known my father, the scarlet letter "A" has been a part of his identity. I have never known him not to be an Adulterer. I grew up with it. I heard about it constantly from my betrayed and devastated mother. She herself would volunteer the sordid details no child should ever have to hear about his own father. But that's a whole other story in itself and I don't have the emotional energy to get into that right now. Somehow, without even realizing it, I have allowed bitterness and an unforgiving attitude to put a wedge between my once healed and restored relationship with the man I once wished dead because of all the emotional pain and turmoil he singlehandedly had put me through. I am relieving my childhood, it seems, yet again.

As I fight for my life and not allow this cancer to consume me, I am faced with another battle - the battle to forgive and let go. I am failing miserably on both fronts. The cancer has not only reappeared but now threatens to do it's worst. At least this is the constant threat and fear I seem to be under ever since Dr. Nash announced to me how he wanted to rip out more than just my colon. There is no use in denying what I daily dread. And as the pain intensifies in my body, now I must deal with the emotional pain and trauma my father has brought about by taking on his brother-in-law's wife as his mistress.

I keep hoping and praying he will come to his senses and turn from his wicked ways. Instead, he continues to perpetuate lies of betrayal and denial, never stopping to realize how much he is affecting his whole family. As the "head" of this family he is dragging us all into a pit along with him and he doesn't seem to care or think his shameful actions matter or have any bearing on us as a family.

As for my mother, she continues to deceive herself and believe the affair is over and done with. That is until Dad gets sloppy in covering his tracks and mom finds out he wasn't where he said he was. Forty years she has put up with this. Forty years she has somehow managed to do what I am desperately trying to do now: forgive and forget. She must have her reasons for staying in such a dishonorable marriage (deep down I do believe she genuinely loves him) but it is taking its toll on me and my siblings. I can't speak for my sisters and tell you how they are coping but I can only say that "me" the only professing "born-again christian" en la familia, it is not fairing so well. My sisters can hate if they want and harbor unforgiveness if they so chose to but I on the other hand am strictly governed by the principle that in order to be forgiven I too must forgive. Fair enough, right? Don't get me wrong, I love my parents and I want to honor them, not to mention enjoy a stable, loving, and intimate relationship with them. I want to look in my father's eyes and not be ashamed or disgusted but he is not making it easy for me. I want to wake up and know without a doubt this charade is finally over. But it seems far from over, leaving me in the predicament I find myself in.

I need to overcome. I need to forgive. I need to move on but the dysfunctions of the family I was born into are proving to be as tenacious and as unyielding as the physical cancer I am currently faced with.I keep crying out to God for mercy over judgment. I do not want to judge the old man or anyone else for that matter because I want to have ample mercy granted to me. I cannot receive mercy if I cannot give mercy.

..."Father, forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us."

Plain and simple, I must forgive in order to be forgiven. Yet I am finding it hard to do every time I think of the hurt and pain I see in my mother's hazel eyes. My heart breaks for her and I wish to God I could carry her pain and take it all away. But I am not a savior and I cannot do what I was never intended to do. I can't save anyone. Can't even save myself which is why I am in need of a constant and faithful Savior outside of myself. Yes, I need Jesus more now than ever. I need to have him carry this shame I feel weighing me down. I need him to set me free from unforgiveness. I need him to come and redeem me as I lay here and cry out. I need to focus on taking care of myself and beating this cancer.

Lord Jesus, I know you are able to do more than I can possibly ask or imagine according to the power that is at work within me. Holy Spirit come and shield me and release your power. I need you now more than ever. I have always needed you. I will always need you. Now more than ever! Give me faith to believe it will all work out for my good. Amen.

Facebook and the Rivera Family Curse

2010-10-15T14:39:00.000-04:00

It all started with the idea of how cool it would be for dad to have access to the world wide web. I was in the process of purchasing a new Macintosh laptop and thought to myself who else but my dad would benefit from inheriting my slow as molasses ibook4. He wouldn't need it for much anyway. My sister Cindy and I knew already how much he enjoyed playing games on the desktop computer we had jointly purchased for the family a few Christmas' ago. Out of the three: my Dad, mom, and younger sister Erika, it seemed Dad was the only one who would even bother to tinker with the clunky emachine . Or so we thought. This was not completely true since it was Erika who after going into enough porn sites allowed for a virus to infect the computer and render it useless. That's right, your eyes are not deceiving you when you read the word "porn" here. My sister who is developmentally delayed and mentally challenged since birth appears to have been cursed right along with the rest of us in that she was addicted to pornography. She had somehow learned to google words which led her to XXX sites. Cindy told me one day how she had turned on the computer and was assaulted by graphic sexual images and advertisements. We immediately thought it was dear old Dad but since the images that were left behind were of naked men, it was quickly figured out that our dear "innocent" sister Erika was busy feasting her eyes on the images of naked men. Either that or Dad had turned gay on us. Not!

Erika was confronted with this embarrassing revelation and she denied it, putting the blame on my niece. Little did Erika know that we were able to look into the computer's history and pinpoint what sites had been visited and when. Erika is not savvy enough to cover her tracks since as I mentioned to you earlier she is slow and does not function at the level of her peers. Cindy and I found it quite interesting how someone with developmental delays and challenges was still able to indulge in what we considered "adult" type activities. This just went to prove in my mind that Erika had also been sexually abused as a child. None of us had escaped the clutches of child molesters; not even the youngest of the three who had grown up with such mental challenges. I could go on and on here about this sensitive subject matter since it has touched every one in my household and caused lifelong damage and trauma. Some day I will talk about generational curses in more detail but right now I need to get back on track with what I am purposely writing about.

Looking back, I regret a thousand times over ever having passed on the ibook to my Dad. Even more so, I wish I had never opened a Facebook account for him. I should have just left him in the dark ages. I blame myself for what has transpired and I continually struggle with forgiving myself on the matter. I only wanted my father and I to enjoy more forms of communication with each other. I had imagined how fun it would be to chat and leave messages for my Dad on Facebook and vice versa. I remember being super excited about opening the account for him and introducing him to the world I had myself become engrossed in. Facebook revolutionized my life. It has single-handedly impacted my day-to-day activities and how I choose to communicate with people. Now I see how Facebook has also cursed my family and become a tool of destruction. Allow me to explain...

It started innocently enough. Little by little my Dad found others on Facebook he had not been in contact with for years. This is one of the awesome things about Facebook, how it keeps you connected with people who otherwise you might never be in touch with ever again. He found childhood acquaintances through facebook. He was able to befriend old neighbors from his hometown, as well as long lost relatives in Puerto Rico. He had his close family too (Cindy and I) in his growing list of friends. I was so proud of the old man for taking this medium and running with it.

Tragically, Dad also gained knowledge and access to individuals who like himself found Facebook useful for flirting. My dad being the quintessential flirt that he has always been immediately fell into looking for friendships that would feed that part of him which needed to sexually express itself. IN enters Ms. Wanda Torres. What a dreadful day that was for all of us! Wanda Torres, or "Titi" (Auntie) Wanda as I have always known and called her by was also on Facebook. Innocently enough, my dad and Wanda began to chat with one another whenever they had the chance. I didn't think much of it until I started receiving messages from Wanda. We'd been friends on Facebook for quite some time but we never bothered to exchange words with one another. You know how you just have certain people on your list but never ever have the urge or need to reach out to? Well, Titi Wanda was one of them. She was the wife of my maternal uncle who lives in the neighboring town of Massachusetts where everyone in my family has over the last two decades migrated to. My parents, siblings, cousins, Aunts, Uncles, and the last remaining grandparent all live in the State of Massachusetts. They have made the western part of the state their home and everyone seems happy to live there. I was the only hold out. I tried it for a couple of months years ago and literally found myself on the verge of suicide. I kid you not. I attempted to live there yet again last year when I was undergoing my cancer recovery but that also fell through once I was healthy enough to pick up where I had left off.

So as I was saying, Wanda starts sending me these mushy sentimental messages about how much she loves me and wants to be there for me, blah, blah, blah. And then one day she sens the message which gave her and my dad away..."I love you like a mother loves her son". Huh? Mother? Loves a son? Um, thanks but I already have a mother. Anyway, this one little message coupled with other signs I was observing told me something was not quite kosher between her and my Dad. I would visit her page, as well as my Dad's page and started to find lots of messages and interactions between the two. So much so, that I remember mentioning to Cindy that I was starting to suspect there was more than just a friendship between the two. It was around this time when it was undeniably confirmed to me through some explicit correspondence between she and my Dad which I had access to. It was official: My Father was having an affair with his brother-in-law's wife!!!

As all things which are hidden in the dark, eventually become exposed to the light. The whole affair was discovered by my Uncle who had begun to have his own suspicions and started to follow my Aunt around. Sure enough Wanda and my Dad had agreed to rendezvous at the Mall and then head over to the motel. My uncle followed them and my Aunt realizing she was being followed and by whom made a quick detour to her nearby Pentecostal Church. When approached by my uncle, Wanda used the alibi that she was counseling and comforting (for sure) my poor Dad who was going through emotional distress at my recent hospitalization and recurrence of cancer. She wanted my uncle to believe she was driving my dad to see the Pastor for prayer and counseling. Yeah right!

After months of secrecy and meeting up for sexual romps at the Super 8 Motel, the truth had been discovered. My uncle immediately called my mother to tell her and my sister Cindy who had just hours before caught wind of the affair and was now on a rampage to publicly expose Wanda to her church and to the facebook community. Of course, my Dad, as is his typical approach to such matters, denied the affair from beginning to end. To this day he still denies it which comes as no surprise to me since this is the same man who took me aside one day during my youth and gave me the worst advice ever, advice he obviously lives by and gives to other men..." Never, ever, admit to sexual indiscretions or extramarital affairs, even if caught red-handed".

I was sick and hospitalized when all this imploded and blew up. I have kept silent about it until now. I have suffered alone. I have watched my mother well up with tears as she tells of the latest drama or incident relating to the affair. I have heard her say countless times how she is done and will leave my Dad but we all know after forty years of unfaithful marriage and affairs, she does not have the will-power or courage to do so. My heart breaks for her...it literally breaks for her and what she is going through, yet again. As a son I would want nothing more than to take her pain and carry it for her as I know she wishes she could do the same for me. The only advice I have been able to give her is to go see a counselor, to seek professional help because she is going through a great deal of pain right now. Sadly, she feels she can come to me and vent but I need to remain neutral in the matter. I cannot take sides. I refuse to do so. As much as I want to confront my father I know it will only make matters worse since he is in denial and refuses to admit to the truth.

I am struggling with my own emotional upheaval. Emotions I need to grapple with and bring under constant control of my Christian principles. I have to continue to forgive, even if I cannot forget. The truth is my Dad's affairs, past and present, have left me traumatized and forever affected. I attribute my life long struggle with fidelity and believing in the sanctity of marriage to this very thing: my father's countless affairs. I never had anyone model for me what it is like to be faithful to one partner and to honor one's vows. My grandfathers were guilty of it. My father definitely is guilty of it and God knows I never knew what it was like to have a monogamous relationship. I cheated on all my boyfriends and denied it to the end too. Like father, like son.

I have been advised not to write about this...to just let family skeletons hidden in the closet and go on with my life. I can't. Writing about it helps me make sense of what is going inside me. Exposing my father's sins serves me in helping to understand my own struggle with sin. I do not write to shame anyone. I may be completely wrong in thinking that when my dad finds out about this he will go on as if nothing ever happened. My family loves to pretend that the bull is not loose in the shop, even if everything around us shatters to millions of pieces. No more. I'm sincerely hoping my dad does confront me about this blog so I can call him to repentance and ask him questions he alone as my father will ever be able to answer. I want to understand him, not judge or condemn him. I'm also desirous to know what he intends to do about it all. Is he going to finally leave mom and go runaway with my Aunt? Is he going to put an end to the affair and do his best to mend his irreparably broken marriage? Will he ever see the wrong he has committed? Or will the Rivera family be doomed to keep repeating the same sins of our ancestors? God knows I may not be around long enough to break this generational curse. Then who? Who will save us and set our relationships and marriages free.

Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Prelude to the Sins of My Father

2010-10-15T00:24:00.000-04:00

In the coming days I will be writing and reflecting on something that is hanging heavy on my heart. I will be openly sharing about the "sins of my Father" (literally). I just wanted to provide a quick disclaimer and make it known I love my parents with all my heart. When I expose them to the light I am not acting out of hatred, revenge, or anything in that vein; I am simply trying to make sense of how their actions to this very day still impact me and my siblings. My sisters and I are experiencing emotional upheaval and distress right now and I for one need to make peace with my raging emotions.

I can only hope and pray what I write and share is received in the spirit which it was intended. And to my Father I want to apologize ahead of time. I truly am sorry to have to put his dirty laundry out for all to see. I would not have to do so if he were willing to talk openly about what everyone in the family (and I mean everyone) has already been exposed to. He refuses to admit the truth and wants to blame everyone else but himself for the unraveling and destruction presently being unleashed due to his selfish and immoral actions. This is nothing new. As long as I can remember, my dad has been notorious for committing the act of Adultery. His unfaithfulness to y mother is legendary in my family and his inability to honor his vows of marriage already a well known fact in the Rivera family.

I have wrestled with this, whether to write about him or not, because I don't want to lose my relationship with him. Yet I realize, he himself has created this present climate of pain and betrayal. I must be true to myself and not only accept truth but embrace it. The latter part can be excruciating and if not done with caution and divine intervention I am aware it can cause destruction.

My sincere prayer is for healing, deliverance, and restoration to be the final outcome out of this painful and revealing process. I would want nothing more than to see a mighty River of Repentance come and wash away our sins. Tragically, it does not seem to be the case with my father and since he insists on making my mother believe she is imaging things, I feel it is my duty to proclaim and expose the truth.

Please pray for my family as we once again are being thrown into the pit of infidelity. My mother's heart has once again been crushed and I'm afraid if action is not taken soon, this could lead to her early demise. May it not be so. May she find the resolve to finally accomplish and follow through on what has taken forty years to be accomplished.

Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Walking the fine line of Faith and Practicality

2010-10-04T09:13:00.001-04:00

Everything in me breathes and believes in a Mighty, Mighty God who is still in the business of setting people free. There is no doubt in my mind God is more than able to heal and deliver. My God specializes in matters of life and Resurrection.

Even when I spent and wasted my earthly inheritance during my years of rebellion and depravity, a part of me still knew He was able. I'd spent my youth in His House beholding his power and being a witness to His awesome might. I was there when Zuleika's left leg miraculously before my very eyes grew out to meet her right leg and the limp she came in with would never be seen again. I was present when Mildred's body which had been riddled with tumors suddenly sprung out of bed healed and restored to perfect health. Yes, I was there also when fevers and diseases responded to the name of Jesus and fled. Hence, even when I turned my back and reneged my covenant to follow Him, I still knew better. Is it any wonder that after three and a half hard years of running away I finally came to my senses and came back home? I have not regretted it since and now live every day grateful to be back in the arms of my father. The anger and venom that once possessed me, now finally defeated. The doubts I once held as truth that he did not love me now replaced with a constant assurance that I am forever and unconditionally accepted. Heaven and salvation no longer just fire insurance but now a blessed reassurance.

Life could not be better... that is until this latest Goliath called Cancer now threatens to cut my days short.

The reoccurring tumor continues to grow exponentially and seems not to be responding to treatment or to the countless prayers coming against it. My surgeon now joined by the Urologist have tag teamed against me (it seems) and are bent on putting me under the knife. Along with the tumor they feel my colon, rectum, pelvic bone, bladder, penis and testicles must be removed also. Too much to take in and handle right now. I simply do not want to undergo such an extensive and invasive surgery which still does not guarantee me I will be able to enjoy a fraction of the independence and mobility I was until recently used to. Imagine a life confined to a bed?

Plain and simple, if the God of the Angel Armies does not intervene, I might as well prepare myself and others for my departure. Every journey has a starting point and the end for some, comes much sooner than we'd all like to accept. I'm okay with longevity on earth as well as eternity on the streets that are golden. For me, my friend, it is a win-win situation.

I know the thought of me dying will be harder for some than it will be for others since we all have varying degrees of grief and separation. Death is a process I do not want to ignore or neglect until it is too late. I want to be ready. My heart is to likewise help those around me be just as prepared. I guess that is why I am writing about it now and have begun dialogue with loved ones.

I'm not giving up by any means. I am holding in tension both my faith in a Healer as well as the possibility this may be my time to go home. This is yet to be determined which is why I hold both in my heart and hope for the best. And the best is not what I or anyone else says should be but what God who pre-destined my days says will be.

TOP TEN THINGS I Miss Most...

2010-09-28T23:07:00.000-04:00

TOP TEN THINGS I MISS MOST (or wish I could do again with ease)

10. Sitting. The tumor is located and protruding in such a way that sitting is no longer an option. I spend the bulk of my days in bed.

9. Using the bathroom like regular folk. I do my business in bags attached to my abdomen.

8. Taking regular showers. The process is time-consuming and tedious.

7. Wearing belts and form-fitting clothes. My fashion sense has been altered since I must now conceal the "ostomy/catheter" bags I'm attached to.

6. Going to the Movies. Since I can't sit, I can't go and watch the latest movies playing out right now.

5. Attending church. Talks are in progress how to make this one obstacle a reality again.

4. Going to work every day. Miss the daily interactions with co-workers and clients.

3. My appetite. I've lost twenty-two pounds in one month. Eating is a chore

2. Pain-Free existence. Pain is under control with heavy pain meds. Thank God.

1. My independence. Can't do much of anything without assistance.

Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Tears in Bottles

2010-09-18T02:24:00.001-04:00

Had a good cry today and I blame TLC's "Say Yes To The Dress". Confined to my bed these last few weeks, I've been watching a great deal of TV lately. One of those shows is the one mentioned here where "brides to be" shop for wedding dresses and in the process bridal drama ensues. I think I've laid eyes on at least a hundred wedding gowns watching re-runs of this show. That is when it dawned on me, while I may proudly proclaim myself as the figurative and literal Bride of Christ, I will never have the pleasure and honor of becoming a groom. Suddenly, I realized how much I've been robbed of in this life! And the tears gushed out of me like a mourner at my own funeral.

I make it a point not to dwell on the "what could have been" and do my best to live life in the moment and to the fullest. Or at least I like to think so. Yet sometimes one can't help and grieve the situational losses of life. So I had me a good cry as I faced the facts that Eunuchs are never meant to marry.

During these down times, when tears and snot are keeping me from focusing on all the blessings that have been bestowed on me regardless of what I may have been deprived of, I always bring to my remembrance the words spoken to me by James Goll (a man I deeply respect and admire in the prophetic) when he revealed to me the tender love of a Savior who collects every tear I've ever shed and collects them in bottles. The thought of Jesus gathering every tear from my eyes and placing each drop in bottles has always spoken volumes to me of how much He deeply cares and is present in my pain and suffering. Not that it makes whatever I'm feeling or going through at the moment, when the waterworks are turned on, any less bearable, at least I can find comfort in knowing someone cares. And if I know Jesus I'm sure there is great purpose in the collection of my many tears. Nothing is in vain. With Him everything has purpose. I trust Him with vindicating me of all my losses and restoring everything I have been robbed of in this lifetime. He is my Hope, my Anchor in the storm... my faithful reminder that these present and momentary troubles are nothing in comparison to the future glory yet to be revealed.

A good cry every once in awhile is a good thing. It cleanses the soul and reminds me how good it is to be alive, no matter the circumstances. Call me "thankful".