Mission Accomplished

First trip back to the States since getting cancer has to be considered a big success by all measures. Barn dance was a blast, Disney was fun for the kids, and the Fab 4 Reunion was so much fun we've decided to meet up again in Arizona next year for the US Masters Swimming Champs. We travel back to Norway today where I am going to begin working two days a week (only two hours of teaching) and Sunniva and Johannes will begin in their barnehage again on Monday. Her last year before she starts school, his second, and I am going to rejoin the board after a year on sick leave.

Here's to a great year of continued healing, quality time with family, right priorities and exciting adventures on both sides of the Atlantic.

Synchronicity

Back in Drammen after a twelve day road trip to Ålesund for Andre and Elise's wedding, then Røros and finally Hafjell, where we slept in a tent the night before visiting Lilleputthammer (tons of fun!). Kids are in the barnehage today and I just talked to my principal, who gave me some good news. 

The new avdelingsleder is the person who has done job in my stead this year, and he's exactly who I hoped would get the position. Even better is that we've gotten a new Spanish teacher (originally from Cuzco now living with her family in Lier) and we'll be able to collaborate together next year. Wonderful synchronicity that I got my start as a Spanish teacher through my sister's host family in Peru, and now I can grow the Spanish program even more at my school with this Peruvian woman married to a Norwegian. She's obviously got her heart in the right place, having arranged a Christmas chocolate party for two towns in the Andes in December of 2008. I anticipate that she will be totally on board with my Berkeley-inspired curriculum choices of El Norte and La Otra Conquista, and I very much look forward to her contributions.  

Another wonderful surprise was in my inbox this morning: an email from my ndugu Zebedayo from Tanzania, from whom I hadn't heard in two years. I was starting to wonder if I'd ever hear from him again, or whether I would even be able to find out if he were to pass away, now or in the future. Infant mortality has struck his family yet again - another boy lost to spina bifida (they lost their first to pneumonia). Fortunately their second-born, Alpha, is healthy and will be starting school this year. Apparently he enjoys singing, which is perfect because I remember so well the singing from the Easter retreat with Zebedayo in Ifunda in 2009, near his home village of Ihemi. Both the thousand-youth strong choir and the Tanzanian head dance, but also Kambako and Zebedayo singing "Shetani na Mungu..." as we walked out in the early morning mist to choose a cow to slaughter for the feast. 

Indelible memories from a land so far away, almost ten years ago but still as vivid as if they had happened yesterday. Crazy to think that the malaria I contracted there might be the cause of my glioblastoma. So I wrote back to him in Swahili, thinking hard to remember verbs like 'to finish' (kumaliza) and was able to describe my epileptic seizure and subsequent treatment: essential information for him (and brushing up of Swahili for me) before we talk this week. 

On the subject of my diagnosis, I found out that a friend's wife's mother has three brain tumors - glioblastoma - and they are inoperable. She's seventy years old and has already survived breast cancer; now the doctors are giving her less than a year. Tragic and unfair, but at least she's reached the seven-decade mark: almost twice as long as I have lived. 

So here I sit on my couch with the panorama doors wide open, breeze blowing in, forest and river and fjord and the cityscape beneath me, grateful to be alive, feeling vigorous, with so many wonderful moments still to come in my life. 

Infusions and IV Bruises

Camilla asked if I have any side effects from the immunotherapy, to which I replied, "None, except for the bruising that shows up a few days or even weeks later." In addition, I always start yawning at exactly the same place as we near Drammen on the day of getting my infusion, a sure sign that I'm getting Nivolumab and am not in the placebo group. I often need to take a nap as soon as we get home, and I'm often tired the next day. Other than that, nothing. If this is all I have to suffer for decades of life, I'll take my infusions dancing. 

Being Present: Into the Second Year

The house is all ready for Sunniva’s fifth birthday party, and every single child we’ve invited is coming, except Imaan who is in Pakistan. There will be seventeen children from ages 2-9 running around here from 1400-1600 tomorrow and it will be a blast. An enormous Lithuanian is currently finishing the job on the back deck, and I’ve finished the gardens while Anette has done a phenomenal amount of baking and making rainbow-colored jello cups for every child.

Cancer does not exist in my mind, my brain or my life anymore. As I write these words I hear Dr. Dre rap about brain damage on the NWA track Express Yourself, and I refuse to believe that I have any. If anything, I’m stronger, smarter and in better shape than before my brain surgery and subsequent rounds of radiation and chemotherapy. I just did 25 pushups and 100 sit-ups, a very modest workout, but enough to make me feel good and to continue on the path towards the Fab Four Reunion this summer, and the Norwegian Masters’ Champs in March 2019. 

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Yesterday was epic. The actual party was a tremendous success, and the after party was even more fun. Sunniva was in ecstasy the whole time, running around the house squealing with delight at so many things, with Johannes following around as best he could and screaming even louder at times.

Of the fifteen kids we invited, two had to cancel due to sickness at the last minute but they came by with presents anyway. Hala came just as the party was ending but she stayed for another four hours with Zeitun, Tufah, Faisal, Kristian, Heidi, Tuva and Thale, our best friends here in Drammen.

Hala and Zeitun bonded over being refugees, Zeitun tried out her Arabic and admonished Hala that she is too young to fast when Ramadan begins in a few days. They also bonded over the difficult situation that Norway puts refugees in after they leave the introduction program: having learned the language and gotten a job, most refugees are forced to leave their homes and make it on their own, a policy that none of us understand. As sweet as baby Faisal is (everyone wanted to hold him) his namesake is another martyr in the ongoing war for Somalia. Abdulqadir’s brother called him three days before he died to tell him that he thought he was being targeted by the government, and sure enough, he was murdered at 0400 prayers in the mosque in Mogadishu.

What do we as privileged white people say to this? How do we comprehend the utter devastation and hopelessness Somalis - and so many other Africans and poor people of all colors - have to contend with daily? OK, I’ve survived Cancer but it hasn’t been that difficult; I’m not in danger of getting shot or chased out of our lovely home.

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Have just had a perfect family moment crying from happiness and the wellspring of emotion that the best music (in this case, Graceland) always brings forth in me. Instead of hiding my tears, Anette made it a point to show Sunniva and Johannes that Daddy was crying tears of joy, and then they all gathered round me to sit on my lap and give me hugs and kisses, which really are the best medicine for any ailment.

Johannes in particular found it hysterical that Mommy was sitting on Daddy’s lap, so we repeated the stunt to the children’s delight, and then had a role reversal where we all sat on Mommy’s lap. This helps me to feel that there is still lots of joy left for us to experience as a family, even as I felt that the peace and calm of holding little Faisal was an ephemeral time that had passed us by forever. I found myself questioning whether I had fully appreciated Johannes as a baby as much as I did when I drank in the smell of Faisal’s head with my nose, his thick black hair warming my nose and mouth. 

But today has given me the answer – of course I did, or Johannes wouldn’t be leaning his head on my chest right now as I write, nor would he have copied my movements and the positioning of my hand under my chin at the table in the moments preceding my tears. We are the perfect family, Anette is the perfect mother, I am the perfect father, Sunniva is the perfect daughter and Johannes the perfect son. And it will always be this way, regardless of what happens to us in the future.

Through my tears I leafed through Sunniva’s two albums with her sitting on my lap, looking back on so many wonderful memories of quality family time both here and in America. Johannes’ first album will be ready in June; hopefully Olivia and Chris can bring it with them to Bergen. As I return to Nicole’s interest in the genealogy work I’ve done, I ask myself again what’s the rush in returning to work full-time. Wouldn’t it be better to use these next years to be fully present for my family while continuing to hone my writing skills? That way I could make sure that the story of our extraordinary family is told for all generations who follow. One moment at a time, one word at a time. So far this diary is at 12962 words, and I have all my other blogs as well. Where will it all end, and in what form? More will be revealed, Insh'Allah.

Marienlyst Open 2018

Have just returned from day two of the Marienlyst Open, which all in all has to be considered a great success, as well as the start of a new chapter in my life and swimming career. Yesterday went well, with a 2:54 in the 200 medley and a 36.17 in the 50 breast, my fastest long course time ever. I was hoping to go 1:18 today and win my heat but I got second with a 1:20.47, three tenths slower than when I swam the same event at the same meet in 2014.

Everything felt right leading up to the race – I got there early, warmed up with the other swimmers in the big pool, got dressed into street clothes, ate the right energy foods at the right times, and even listened to ‘Killing in the Name of’ to psych me up. As soon as my heiagjeng appeared I rushed down to the pool to swim my race, which I truly believed I was going to win.

I dove in, had the longest pull-out, touched first at the turn and didn’t see anyone near me in the second 50. When I touched the wall I thought I had won in a 1:18 and lifted my fist in the air, but then I realized that was the guy in lane 3 who I couldn’t see. My mood immediately darkened and I was disappointed with myself, but Sunniva and Johannes were ecstatic. Afterwards Sunniva said “Daddy won,” which Johannes repeated faintly but audibly (so cute!). This is why I am swimming – it is no longer for me, but for them. I want them to have a parent who is an active athlete and can show them how much fun it can be to push one’s mind and body to the limit.

As my friend Nick put it, ironically: “Oh, dammit, you’re slower than you were when you were four years younger and didn’t have Cancer!” Everyone laughed, and that is the feeling I wish to take with me from this meet. It was my first time in my Master’s career doing three events over two days, and I’m still only three months removed from my final round of chemo; two and a half from my last seizure. So although I’m still a bit disappointed about the time, I am more determined than ever to do what it takes to be faster this summer and even faster at the Norwegian Master’s Champs in Bergen in March.