I started the next regimen of chemotherapy this morning.  The first treatment of the four weeks is the longest and the most difficult. 
     We expect to get the final pathology report on the thyroid cancer in the next couple of days.  If that report agrees with the previous ones, then we will consider the thyroid cancer behind us, at least for now.
     I am going to go on with my life, doing the things that I love and doing the things that I can.  For some reason the Lord has left me in this world.  I will make it my goal to please Him for whatever the reason.
     Yesterday was one of those days that when I laid down to go to bed, I felt like it was worth the sacrificing of a day of my life for the events of the day.  I would hope that I feel that way most days, but I often don’t.
     We surprised some folks by showing up for church.  I am far stronger than I anticipated and far stronger than some folks anticipated, too. 
     I wish everyone was connected to a loving church.  The world would be different if that were the case. 
     After worship we ate with Fred and Carolyn Pace in Mt. Sterling as we headed to Ashland.  Carolyn, who has had MS for several years, spoke last year at our Women’s Banquet.  This summer she was bitten by a tick and came down with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.  Because of her MS, the illness was almost fatal.  It continues to be a long road back for her.
     She and I laughed about how people often say to us how good we look in spite of the illnesses we have.  We were blessed to hear her story and to know that she is a victor in her fight.
     Then we stopped in Morehead to see Teresa’s 90-year-old uncle whose wife died earlier this year.  Teresa has such a good way with older folks.  Maybe that bodes well for me if we both live long enough!
     We headed to Ashland for the visitation of a longtime friend, Charlie Hogg.  We have been connected with his family for over 40 years.  Charlie and Jeanette were youth parents when we were youth pastors at their church.
     Their daughter, Angie, was in the youth group and we have been involved in each other’s lives since she was 12.  Her husband, Brad, is a pastor and has been one of the “Timothys” in my life.
     Her brother, Phil, and I became friends at the Wesley Foundation at Morehead when we were in college and remained lifelong friends.  His wife, Janet, I knew even before Phil.  Phil passed away of cancer earlier this year.
     How could Teresa and I not make the trip to Ashland to be with this family we love so dearly?  Even knowing that I had surgery this past week, it was not much of a surprise to them to see us walk in the funeral home.  The greater surprise was that Megan was with us.
     In their family this year two of them have lost husbands, five of them a dad, two of them a brother, one a son, and several of them a grandpa.
     I received a text from Angie the morning after her dad went home to be with Jesus.  Faith enables us to share a text like she shared with me.  “We know that Phil was waiting to give Dad a grand tour of his new home!”
     That is the hope for those of us who believe.  We will see our loved ones again.  Death does not have the final word.
     As a bonus I got to see Abby and Aaron, Angie and Brad’s kids whom we have known since they were born.  Megan babysat them when they were young, as did Angie for our girls.
     Abby is a beautiful, bright, loving young woman in her 20s with a smile that melts your heart.  She has a new beau who came with her to the funeral home.  He had only met Angie and Abby's brother in their family, not even Brad.  He walks into the funeral home to a wall of Hogg family members, meeting them for the first time.  What a way to meet your girlfriend’s family. 
     As any loving “surrogate grandpa” would do, I couldn’t help but assist in welcoming him into the family.  Looking at him and looking at her, I said to him, “Son, you are dating up, way up.”  I am pretty sure he knows that.
     Not every day I can say that the giving of the day of my life was worth it.  Sunday was one of those that I could. 
     Let’s see if I can give my life today and be able to say the same.

     Some things happened this week while we were at Mayo that I haven’t had time to share. 
     I found it interesting that my chart at Mayo doesn’t specify that I didn’t have the stem cell transplant.  That has opened the door for some discussions with the staff.
     When I was taken to the pre-op area on Tuesday, besides the nurse checking me in, the first person to see me was the pharmacist.  She was a young woman with lots of life and a winsome personality.
     We talked for a few minutes and she looks at me and says, “I like your attitude.”  I took that to mean that I was upbeat rather than dejected as I have dealt with some issues, as well as facing surgery.
     She began to go over the list of medications that I had been prescribed.  I explained to her that none of those medications I had taken because I didn’t have the stem cell transplant.  I shared with her about the good news from the bone marrow biopsy and the decision not to have the transplant.
     She looks at me and starts to speak.  It was on the very tip of her tongue.  “Miraculous.” But she just couldn’t say it, but we both knew it was true.  She didn’t have to say it.  Looking back on it, I should have said to her, “I like your attitude.”
     After returning from the visit on Thursday morning with the nurse who said we could come home, I was on the elevator at the hotel.  We were on the eighth floor so there was some time to think.   It was one of those “God comes while in the shower” type moments.
     The events of the past year quickly flashed through my mind.  By the time the elevator doors opened I had this impression that I almost spoke audibly, “It is miraculous that I am still alive.  And if I am alive in five years it will be even more miraculous.”
     Maybe I was still thinking of the young pharmacist.  I don’t think so.
     During the weeks of the preparation for the stem cell transplant I shared that I was reading through the Psalms.  Many of them spoke to me, as the Psalms tend to do for all of us.
     Three weeks ago I read the 118th Psalm.  Let me share just three verses from that Psalm:
Psalm 118:15 Shouts of joy and victory resound in the tents of the righteous: “The Lord’s right hand has done mighty things!
16 The Lord’s right hand is lifted high; the Lord’s right hand has done mighty things!”
17 I will not die but live, and will proclaim what the Lord has done.
 
     As I reread these verses this morning, there came this lump in my throat, not the constant one from the surgery,
     At least for now, I will not die but live.  And I will proclaim what the Lord has done. 
     I will do that when the Lord opens the door in conversations.  I will do that when given the privilege to preach.  I will do that through these blogs.  
     Thanks for reading and being a part of me proclaiming what the Lord has done.  I commit to continue to write them only when moved by the Spirit. 
     For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. 
     I am going to go on enjoying life as I live it with Christ Jesus and with others whom I love.
     I’d prefer to wait on the gain part for a while.

      How is this for a surprise?    There is a reason I didn’t write a blog yesterday.
      Not knowing how swollen is good or bad, early yesterday morning I called the surgeon’s hotline and asked if I could have someone take a look at my neck. 
      In a few minutes the appointment secretary called and asked if I could be at the Clinic in less than an hour.
      The nurse looked at my throat and said, “It looks really good.  The amount of swelling is normal.  It may take it a month to flatten out.  You are good to go.”
      “To go” she meant to go home.  Teresa came and got me, we packed up and loaded the car, and we headed home.
      The hardest hour of the trip was the last hour because it was raining.  The second most difficult was the first hour.  The longer we traveled, the stronger I became.
      And by midnight I was tucked in my own bed, not nearly as weary as you might think.
      The swelling does give a new meaning to the phrase, “a lump in my throat.” 
      We didn’t heed the advice of several folks to “take it easy.”  With two days at home that we didn’t anticipate, it might be a good time to heed that advice.
      There was an added blessing of seeing the nurse.  I was trying to be careful to keep my head from moving much, trying to make sure that I wouldn’t hurt what the surgeon had done.  I would turn my body instead of my head.  The nurse noticed that I was doing that.
      That wasn’t in the plan for recovery.  She said to exercise my neck area at least once an hour, moving my head from side to side and from front to back.  The trip home more than met that requirement.
      So far things couldn’t have gone better.  For that we are more than grateful.
      This is the day the Lord has made.  I will rejoice and be glad in it

     I am out of the hospital and back at the hotel taking it easy.  On this one, I am not kidding.  It’s likely next week that Teresa may have trouble getting me to take it easy, but not today.
     I ended up in the nicest room, actually a suite, at the hospital.  It had a room off the main room with a computer desk and a kitchen table and chairs.  Teresa even said that there was a tablecloth on the table.  She would notice those things.
     There were slippers and a robe, and a shower nicer than I have ever used.  The nurse this morning said that I had won the lottery.  All I can figure is that because the surgery ended so late in the evening all the regular rooms were taken. 
     Mayo has dignitaries come from all over the world and these may be the rooms they use for them.  It’s rare for me to be a VIP!  I don’t remember ever travelling in first class on a plane.
     The surgeon came by before I was released.  He is superb.   He was very pleased with the results of the surgery.  There were three cancerous nodules instead of one.  The pathologists tested them and the right side of the thyroid.  We will get the final test results in about a week.
     There was no sign of cancer in the left side nor in the lymph nodes.
     In God’s timing, not having the transplant might be even more of a blessing.   The nerve that goes to my vocal cords was attached to one of the cancerous nodules.  The surgeon pealed the nerve away from the nodule during the surgery.  Who knows what could have been the outcome had I waited 5-6 months before having the surgery, which was the plan had I had the transplant.
     God is good.  All the time. Either way He is good, just sometimes it is more obvious than others.
     As I sat in the hospital room this morning waiting to be discharged, I had one of those divine moments.  Just the Lord and me.  I looked back over the events of the past year.  I thanked Him for His involvement in the timing of the events.  There are way too many times that things have happened for which there are no logical explanations. 
     One or two times might be considered coincidences.  I am confident that the Lord has been involved in those events.   The news this morning was icing on that cake.
     Now we do see in a mirror dimly; then face to face.  Now we know in part; someday we will understand fully.
     We plan to stay in Rochester until Friday and hope to be home sometime over the weekend.
     Thanks again for your prayers.

     I am to check in at the hospital at 11:00 CST.  I would expect the surgery to start around 1:00 CST if the surgeries scheduled before me go as planned.
     It’s a beautiful fall day in Rochester.  The sun is shining and the leaves are turning with much more color than in Central Kentucky.  We can look across the landscape from our eighth-floor room.
     I got up early and came down to the lobby so Teresa could sleep for a while longer. 
     There’s a gas-log fire in the fireplace and the couch on which I am sitting is close enough that I had to move to the other end.  Just off the lobby is the breakfast area.  Maybe not the best place to be sitting when you are fasting before surgery.
     I have received several texts and I have no doubt lots of folks are praying.
     If you have followed these blogs or know me even somewhat, you know what Mike Courtney and his wife, Doris, mean to me.  He sent me a text this morning that literally blew me away.  Here is Mike’s prayer for me this morning:
 
“Oh great God of grace and healing, the author and finisher of our faith, I pray today, all day for my brother Chuck Cooper. I pray for comfort and peace for Chuck and his family. I pray for wisdom and skill for every doctor and nurse that comes in contact with him today. I pray that every mark, incision, shot, or suture will perfectly do what it is supposed to do. And, I pray with boldness and confidence for absolute, supernatural, divine healing. I pray the doctors will shake their heads in amazement at what You have done before they even begin a single process.  In all of this, I pray that Chuck will be strong and blessed. And that You will be glorified. In the Name of Jesus, by whose stripes we are healed. Amen”
 
     All I could say was, “Wow.”  And thanks.
 
     Teresa will send a text to Megan as things progress today.  Thanks again for your prayers.

     We met this afternoon with the surgeon and his team in endocrinology, which included another doctor, a resident whom Mayo permits to function as the doctor before the surgeon comes in, a medical student who is planning to be a doctor, and the surgeon’s nurse.
     The surgeon was more than impressive.  He has that persona about him that tells you that he knows his stuff.  Here is what we now know.
 
● The surgeon wanted verification that the chemotherapy treatments would not prevent my healing following the surgery.  After he received that verification while I was sitting in the exam room, the surgery is a go.
 
● There was one hiccup.  I had two biopsies on my thyroid in Lexington.  The pathology report from April was inconclusive and the pathology report from the biopsy in August indicated that one of the nodules is malignant. 
     The staff at Mayo Clinic wanted their pathologists to review those slides, especially the one from the August biopsy and requested those slides to be sent to them.  They wanted their pathologists to verify the cancer, the type of cancer, etc.
The lab in Lexington sent the slides to Mayo, but only the slides from April, not the slides from August.  Go figure.
     So, from the doctors’ (the surgeon and the endocrinologist) point of view, they won’t even say that I have cancer of my thyroid until after the surgery begins and they test the tissue in question.
     It doesn’t change a great deal other than the order in which they will do things tomorrow.  Even based on the uncertainty of the results of the April biopsy, they would still remove the right side of my thyroid.
 
● The actual time of the surgery will be about two hours unless something changes from the pathology report that will be done while I am still in the operating room.  If there is an indication that the cancer has spread to the left side, then they would remove that side, too.
 
● Much to my chagrin and Teresa’s elation, I will stay in the hospital overnight.
 
● The surgeon asked us to remain in Rochester until Friday morning to make sure that there are no complications.  I am figuring that Friday morning begins at 12:01 am.
 
● Much to Teresa’s chagrin and my elation, the surgeon said that I could resume my normal lifestyle after about a week.  Then again, he didn’t ask about my normal lifestyle.  And I didn’t volunteer to tell him.
 
● We won’t know until about 9:30 EST the scheduled time of the surgery.
 
     As has happened more times than I want to remember in this, there was this initial troubling of my heart while we met with the surgeon.  Who among us ever wants to have surgery?  I was hoping that I wouldn’t have a stay in the hospital and that maybe we could head out of Dodge on Wednesday if things went well.  Because the thyroid is close to the voice box, there is some risk of damaging the voice box.
 
     I don’t guess you’d believe that we ate at Texas Roadhouse, of course during the 3:30 to 5:00 reduced rate time, would you?
 
     After we got back to the motel and I started writing the blog, that sweet peace of Jesus began to return.  Half of the stem cell transplant patients my age end up in the hospital for an average of six days.  I should consider it a blessing that just an overnight stay is in the works for this surgery.
 
     I’m expecting there to be another troubling of my heart in the morning.  I feel far more comfortable standing by one of you as you are preparing to head to surgery than I do as the patient.  Yet, I know even in the uncertainty that the Presence of Jesus is not far away and that His sweet peace will return.
 
     Thanks again for reading.  Writing calms my heart.  So do your prayers.

      We arrived at Rochester about 11 pm our time after what seemed to be a longer than usual trip.  You’d think by now that I would be used to the almost 12-hour drive.  We could have traveled to Florida. 
      When we turned onto the main street that goes into Rochester, I surprisingly didn’t have the feeling that I usually have when we get here.  It is usually a cross between uncertainty and hope.
      As we neared the motel, which is in sight of the Mayo Clinic buildings, the expected feeling finally came.  The mind and heart can do strange things.
      I’ve shared on previous trips these seemingly mutually exclusive feelings of uncertainty and hope.  My mind would say that they shouldn’t co-exist, but in my heart they do.
      I am thankful that it appears that the thyroid cancer was found early.  I am thankful that typically thyroid cancer is treatable.  Hope comes in at this point.  We are hopeful that through the skill of the medical team and the prayers of God’s people that this third cancer can be moved to the back burner.
      Uncertainty comes from several angles and brings questions.   That’s the nature of uncertainty; it brings questions for which we would like some answers.
      Does the pathology report from Mayo’s doctors match the pathology report from the lab in Lexington?   Is the plan to only remove the right side of my thyroid? How long will we need to stay in Rochester after the surgery?  How long before I can resume my normal lifestyle?  I anticipate that some of those questions will be answered when we meet with the surgeon at 2:00 CST today.
      Here is the big question: Will having surgery on my throat affect my ability to speak?  If so, for how long?  When you have spent your life preaching the gospel, being able to speak is a concern.
      As I have thought about this strange relationship of uncertainty and hope, maybe the two do have some connection.  For me at least, hope comes while I am dealing with the uncertainty. 
      The solid rock on which I stand is my hope.  When the storms of life come and I am firmly on the rock, there is hope and certainty even when the circumstances of life are very much uncertain.
      It is part living by faith in an uncertain world.
      When I walked into the motel to check in, the clerk looks up and sees me and say, “Hi, Chuck.”  That ought to tell you something.  At least she had the reservation on the counter, so she knew we were coming.
      Sydney is a precious heart.  When we thought that we would be in Rochester for six weeks, some folks sent us cards and a care package.  Sydney says, “We have some stuff for you.”  For those of you who may have sent us something and you didn’t get a response, thanks for loving us.
      The Lord willing, we will write a short blog after meeting with the surgeon.  We won’t know the time of the surgery until this evening.
      Thanks for your continued encouragement and prayer support.  The two go hand in hand.
      I am hopeful today in an uncertain world.  My concerns are far from the uncertainties that tens of 1000s of people have today in our world. 
      On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand, all other ground is sinking sand.

     It has been a long week or short week depending on how you look at it.  As we prepare to head to Rochester there have been lots of things to do.   In the next few days I will try to give you insight into the surgery on Tuesday.
As I look back on the week, it was good to be back in the pulpit last Sunday and I am looking forward to tomorrow.   I said to Teresa on the way to church last week that I was getting back on the horse, but I hoped I wouldn’t fall out of the saddle!
     Several folks have asked.  If you haven’t heard, I bought the Yukon.  Here is how it happened.
     Last Friday I went back to the car lot.  I think some of you would have been proud of me in a good way of being proud. 
     In a similar way that the Prodigal Son rehearsed his speech on his way back to see his father, I rehearsed what I had decided to say to Tom.
     I walked into his office and said, “Tom, you already mean more to me than any car I could ever purchase from you.  In five or six years this car will be old.  But I plan on living with you for eternity.  I will be good with whatever the price is on the Yukon.”
     He looked at what he had in the car and what it would cost to fix a couple of things.  Then he set the price with no negotiation on my part. 
     I must admit that this was far and away the most peaceful car purchase of my life.
     When I went to pick up the car on Wednesday, Tom had fixed a couple of things that we had discussed and he gave me the “on the road” cost.  I didn’t feel comfortable with that, knowing some of the cost of the cosmetic repairs.  I added an additional couple of hundred dollars.   Obviously that was a first for me when purchasing a car!
     One of the blessings of being a believer is being a part of the family of God.  Paul writes in the great eighth chapter of Romans that our spirits bear witness with one another that we are children of God.  I have known that reality with Tom.
     In just a bit more than a week I purchased an SUV, but far more than that, I have gained a friend and a brother whom I have grown to love deeply.
     As we sat in his office on Wednesday, Tom shared with me more about his cancer.  Hanging on the back of a small shelf on his desk are tags from several years of him riding his bike to help others fight cancer, long before he was diagnosed.
     Eating is a challenge for him and likely will be the rest of his life.  As he shared with me some of the struggles, I discovered something on which he and I relate.  Tom loves Reese’s cups.
     Tom said that it has been difficult to eat regular Reese’s cups for some reason, but the “seasonal” Reese’s cups he can more than tolerate. 
     Yesterday I stopped by the car lot to see him because there was something that I had to give to him.  I framed the reason for me stopping by asking him a question about the Yukon.
     Then I pulled from the front seat a 36-count box of Reese’s pumpkins.  He was stunned.  And blessed.  And so was I.  It is more blessed to give than to receive.
     I am not one who has any interest in telling or knowing the future.  But I have a feeling that a box of Reese’s trees might be an appropriate Christmas present for a dear friend and brother. 
     Cancer, faith, and Reese’s cups.  Any one of those would have tied me to Tom.  Three strands together tie the relationship even more strongly.
     Lord, thank you for bringing others into my life who bless me so unexpectedly.  When the Yukon on the lot caught my eye, You had far more in mind than me finding a car that I needed.  Mere coincidence?  I am thankful that You are involved in my life. 

      When I started writing these blogs I committed to writing only when the Spirit moved me.  In the last week or so He was silent.  Until yesterday.
      It looks like my Explorer with 340,000 miles has moved to the “unreliable” status so I have been looking for another SUV.
      One caught my eye on a used car lot on the bypass here in Lawrenceburg.   After a couple of days I finally stopped to take a closer look.
      No salesman came out to pressure me even after I was on the lot for maybe 10 minutes.  I stepped into the office and spoke to the owner.   He grabbed the keys and we walked to the car so I could take a closer look.
      Rarely do I buy a car on the first look.  I needed to do some mulling.
      On Friday afternoon I finally had the chance to go back.  Same scenario as the first time.  I was on the lot for several minutes before I slipped into the office.
      The owner was sitting at his desk eating rice cakes with a cherry sauce on them.  I volunteered to let him finish his lunch or supper.  It was about four in the afternoon.
      His response was, “I’m good.  I don’t eat big meals but maybe 10 small ones each day.”  I thought that was strange.
      I test drove the SUV.  Though it has some years and some miles, it would be the nicest car that I have ever had.  My biggest concern was getting the phone to connect to the screen.
      When I returned from the test drive he said to me, “Why don’t you drive it home and take the time to connect your phone.”
      After being around him twice I was pretty sure that he was a believer.  He has a gentle spirit.  He then said to me, “I run this business on a handshake.”
      Things then dramatically changed.  We hadn’t exchanged names until now.  I noticed the cross that Tom was wearing.
      In the next several minutes we shared part of our lives.   Tom eats 10 small meals a day because two years ago he had oral cancer.  He endured radiation and surgery to remove part of his tongue.  When you listen closely you can tell it is difficult for him to speak.   The cancer that I fear the most is oral cancer as a pastor and preacher.
      We both shared stories of how God used others to speak to us when we were at low points in our cancer treatments.  We both know the power of the prayers of others.
      I shared with him about Daybreak.  Though he is about my age he is helping some others plant a church in Lawrencesburg. 
      When I was ready to head home so Teresa could see the SUV, Tom, who is over six feet tall, reaches out his arms and we hug each other.  I am more than confident that I have never hugged a car salesman who was trying to sell me a car.
      I have a new friend, but more importantly a new brother.  Whether I buy the car or not will not determine if this is the last encounter I have with Tom.
      I am, however, in somewhat of a dilemma.  My two natures are clashing.  I am not thinking of the new man I am in Christ Jesus clashing with the old man I used to be.  Those two natures are at odds every day. 
      I am thinking of my new nature in Christ Jesus clashing with my “thinking wholesale” in most financial transactions.  Most car salespersons don’t want to deal with me.  It took us several hours of negotiating when we purchased Teresa’s Edge.
      I just can’t see me beating up Tom for a few hundred dollars.  He may need it more than I do.
      Maybe I am becoming more like Jesus. 
      The jury is still out on whether we will purchase the SUV or not.