Moments Captured #5 - Time Stops Still

 "Photography takes an instant out of time, altering life by holding it still." (Dorothea Lange)

I thought it was time for another more casual entry in my series, "Moments Captured". A perfect exercise to while away a gray morning, still recovering from my recent surgery. Sit down here in my "Hobbit-home" of an office and putz around looking at old photographs and then seeing what I can write about them.  Good for the soul.

This entry's theme is "Time Stops Still". I was reflecting on the fact as I dug through my photos that so often our photographs are staged or posed. So many "Selfies". So many great "landscapes". So many "historical moments enshrined". But every now and then a photographer can be a quiet witness to a special moment - when the subject is unaware - and time is seemingly stopped with the click of his camera. In a blink of an eye - and usually not intentionally - Life, in all of its vitality and rawness is captured. A seemingly still shot can be overflowing with emotion or movement, or simply take your breath away. These kinds of shots are rare Pearls indeed. A classic example for me is Robert Doiseneau's "The Kiss", taken on the streets of Paris in 1950. 

"The Kiss" (Robert Doiseneau, 1950)

In a split second, Doiseneau captures both the intimacy and passion of two young lovers, and also just how rare those emotions seem to be in that second. Stoic strangers hustle blank-eyed all around them, unaware and seemingly untouched. Time is stilled, yet I can still feel its vibrations in this shot. 

Now, I'm by no means a Doiseneau. But here are 6 photos I've taken over the years that strike me in the same way. I enjoy sharing them with you. 

Six Favorite Photos - "Time Stops Still"

Ok. I didn't take this photo. But it's a favorite of mine. It was taken by our friend Mindi Morgan on our wedding day 16 years ago. I've always called it "Waiting". Deborah, my beautiful bride and my sister Julie (her Maid of Honor) wait excitedly at the top of the stairs for the beginning of the processional music. My brother Dave is my Best Man - standing attentive and alert. Deborah's son, Dan, waits anxiously to escort his Mom to me, resplendent in his tux and Chuck Taylors. The shot captures beautifully all the emotions of that most wonderful day: Excitement, Anticipation, Honor, Family, and Love. A classic for me. 

The next two photos were ones I took on the same beautiful April evening in 2014. Deborah and I had gone to Carmel CA for the 1st time to celebrate my birthday. We met her parents there and enjoyed the visit. One night after dinner, she and I decided to drive over to Carmel State Beach and watch the sunset. 

I've always treasured these two shots. 

I just love this photo of Deborah! I've never titled it (perhaps "California Dreaming"?). It always makes me happy because it captures so much of her and that special moment: her beauty, her love of the ocean, the gentle sound of the waves and the soft cushion of the sand. And I am touched by how completely entranced she is in the spectacle of that moment. All that I love about her, and about the wonders of the beach and Carmel are there. And then, there was a shot of what she was looking at...

"The Magic of Carmel". A few moments after I sat down next to Deborah on the blanket, I snapped this shot of some other people who were just as mesmerized by the fiery setting sun as we were. It always reminds me of the truth that the best way to truly participate with Life requires, more times than not, one thing that I struggle to do: To just stop and be there. Quit hustling through my miniscule world of "busy-ness" and agree to be part of the larger and grander Universe. 

Children are often great subjects for a candid capture, like this one of my grandson Elijah taken in October 2020. "The Hopeful Angler". Deborah and I were with him on one of our morning walks in All Sports Park along the Rogue River in town. Elijah is not much of a "walker" (like his "elderly" companions). He's more of a runner, jumper, thrower, digger, and impromptu fisherman at heart! And, like most kids, he has a vivid imagination. A simple stick is as good as any rod from Orvis or Sage. And a pebble thrown is just as capable of luring a scaly trophy as the fuzziest caddis nymph. I wish I had his patience and his faith!

This shot always makes me chuckle. It was a real "Smile, You're on Candid Camera" moment! I call it "The Icebreaker". I don't remember where Deborah and I were; shopping someplace. And, as was often the case, we had taken with us our little dog Izzy. The "First Rule of Izzy World" was always the same: IF YOU GO, I GO. Fortunately, since she was only 5 lbs, it was pretty easy to include her in most all of what we did. Just stuff her in a pocket or purse. On this occasion, I don't know what sparked Deborah (other than her innate love of a little tease!) to try to introduce Izzy to a "new friend". As you could see, Izzy was not totally impressed. Kept her cool though, and ultimately snubbed the eager "beau" with a dismissive turn of her head! Funny!

And here's the last picture. Again, I broke my own "rules" for this blog. It's a selfie. I took it on another visit of ours to Carmel CA again - this time in 2017. Once again, we had set off to the beach - this time the Carmel city beach at the end of Ocean Avenue - to watch another sunset. We were again blessed with a splendid masterpiece. As it slowly began to fade, I tried to take a quick selfie of us and the moment. And I captured Deborah in all of her loveable, "one of a kind" friskiness! "The Quiet Man" meets "Carmen Miranda"! You can now see, frozen in time, exactly why I fell head over heels in love with her. And still am to this day...

"You just have to live and life will give you pictures." (Henri Cartier Besson)

Here's to life continuing to give me more opportunities like these: to live and to love and to smile. 

"Cancer Is Just A Word" - Chapter One

 "Cancer is a word, not a sentence." (John Diamond, Br. journalist. 1953-2001. Diagnosed with throat cancer in 1997)

There are 5 words in the English language that I never thought - not in a million years - that I would ever be saying. 

I am a cancer survivor. 

Yet here I am today, saying and praying those words, as fully and as honestly as I can. 

This entry, and likely another one or two in the future, is going to be about a journey that I never thought I'd ever take. A journey I would never have volunteered for. A journey whose challenges, destinations, and gifts along the way I could never have predicted. All of that, therefore, makes it a Pearl worth reflecting on here. 

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo. “So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” (J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring)

Funny how the eddies of Time swirl and flow. The above quote (a favorite of mine) was what started a blog that I wrote two years ago, almost to the day. I shake my head in amazement that its wisdom returns to me this morning, at just the right time.  So where did this journey - that I wish need not have happened - but can only accept and decide what to do with what I've been given - begin?

It began simply, as all great treks do. Last March my doctor and I were reviewing the results of my last couple of blood tests done that year as part of my routine annual exams. But instead of talking about my cholesterol levels or blood pressure or weight (our usual topics of discussion), he wanted to talk about my PSA levels - a new term for me. Now, I'm not about to get all "wonky" on medical details in this entry, but a little education is good for all of us. PSA stands for "Prostate-Specific Antigen", and the bottom line is the more of this there is in one's blood, the greater the chance that one may have prostate cancer. Dr. Williams told me mine had risen significantly over the year, and he wanted to send me to a specialist "just to check it out". "This doesn't mean you have cancer. It's just a precaution. Everything will be fine." No worries, I thought, and agreed. "What's the big deal? I can handle seeing a urologist in Medford. All just part of getting a "tiny bit older". I'm healthy. I survived COVID just fine. No worries."

Dr Kadi-Ann Bryan, Rogue Valley Urology

And so I came to meet Dr. Kadi-Ann Bryan. We met with her 4-5 times over the course of the next year. There was no doubt from my 1st meeting with her that she was an exceptional person. I never would've guessed that my urologist would be a relatively young (mid-late 30's?) black woman with sharp black eyes, wearing bright scrubs and sporting a "no-nonsense" pile of braids wrapped atop her head like a royal turban. Very business-like. Certificates on her office wall from medical institutions around the world and country attesting to her skill. Without much of a friendly "Howdy" at all, Dr. Bryan began to tell me in confident detail what she intended to do with me and for me over the course of the near future. Whoa.

I'd like to tell you I was intially impressed, but at first I didn't much like her "bedside-manner". I hadn't even really "bought into" this whole "Maybe I have cancer" thing. Maybe I don't, thought Jon. Maybe I just want to "think about this". Thankfully, I put my ego aside and agreed with the doctor. Time inevitably will teach us all the same lesson - either willingly or painfully. That lesson is to accept that we need HELP and that we don't control our lives as we think we do. For me, the "pop quiz" was beginning. And I am forever grateful that Dr. Bryan was my "mentor". She is now a hero to me. 

In August 2021, my 1st biopsy with Dr. Bryan revealed the presence of a small level of cancerous cells in my prostate. She said "I barely found them" and told me "Active surveillance" for a year was next. So we "actively surveilled" - and I waited. Life went on as normal for me. I golfed. I did yard work. Continued enjoying retirement as I had been. Then this October, I returned for a 2nd biopsy with Dr. Bryan on a Friday afternoon.  And as they say, "things got real real quick".

Just 4 days later, Dr. Bryan called with the results, surprisingly soon. Bottom line: The cancer had grown significantly. We needed to determine how far and prepare for the next stage of treatment. Wowza. Talk about feeling like I stepped on a treadmill already running at 7 mph! So off Deborah and I sprinted over the next week to MRI's and Bone scans and my 1st serious introduction to modern American medicine since I was 6 years old. The technology is truly the stuff of science fiction. But thankfully, each of the technicians and nurses I met along the way were just as kind as they were competent and caring. In the end, the very good news was that the cancer was localized still and according to Dr. Bryan, I was a healthy and prime candidate for surgery and a full recovery.  The procedure was scheduled for Tuesday December 6th. 

It's funny that at no time during the month when all this occurred can I remember feeling nervous or scared. I just kept trying to do "the next thing". I guess it was like my legendary 1st raft trip down the Rogue River with Deborah 17 years ago. I was too naive, didn't know enough about what was going to happen, to be scared. I began telling close friends and acquaintances about what was coming up for me; every person I told was generous and kind in offering me prayers and healing thoughts. But even as I told them "I've been diagnosed with prostate cancer and am going in for surgery", I still couldn't quite believe it was happening to me. Kind of surreal. Felt like I was saying "I'm going on a trip to Nigeria. See you in about a month. Talk to you soon." Weird. 

"The best way out is always through." (Robert Frost)

The day of my surgery finally came. It was a long day; made long by the dietary restrictions I had to follow the previous day in preparation; long because I had to get up at 330 am for the drive to Providence Hospital in Medford for my check in. Long because I would be staying the night in a hospital for the 1st time since I got my tonsils out at age 6. Talk about sailing into unknown waters!

The official title of my procedure was a mouthful. Dr. Bryan and her team performed a "Robotic Assisted XI Laparoscopic Prostatectomy and Pelvic Lymphadenectomy with Bilateral Nerve Sparing". Holy Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. It lasted about 3 1/2 hours I'm told. Modern anesthesiology is truly like a "time-machine". One second, you remember being one place. And the next second, you're somewhere else with no knowledge of the "in between". But the consequences of the "trip" soon catch up to you. Oh boy. They did for me. When the time machine "cocktail" wears off, there's a "price" to pay at the station you wind up with. 

No need to describe the physical challenges. All of us have faced them. I had a few that day. But resisting the discomfort or pain never makes it "go away" - it only heightens it. Accepting it and bearing it is the only real option there is. And so I did, in true Finnish "Sisu" fashion. But if one is willing to do that, there are - I can guarantee - valuable gifts on the other side for the one who chooses to do so. 

"I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." (Blanche, "A Streetcar Named Desire", Tennessee Williams)

Experiencing the kindness of strangers - of people I had never met before - over and over again that afternoon and night of my surgery was the greatest gift I could've ever been given. Thank you to each of the caring nurses who tended to me Tuesday: Suzanne, Erin, Kaylee, Cynthia, Rheema, Milan, Troy, Paul and Sarah. Truly a cavalry of compassion. 

There were two other nurses who were true "angels in need" for me during my brief stay. Nanu was my "night angel". I'll never forget her gentle care and compassion while visiting me several times as I slept to record my vitals, give me medications, and to just talk softly to me as I dozed back off. And then there was Samantha, "Sam". She was my day nurse and guided me through the toughest physical parts of that day and was the one who prepared me for my departure the next morning. As I chatted with her, I was struck with the odd sense that "I knew her" already - and when I asked her where she went to school - I was proven right! Samantha was an ex-student of mine at South Medford, many years ago!! She seemed at first a little embarassed that I remembered her, but there was no doubt she remembered me. (She even recited a Gaelic greeting I once taught her class many moons ago!). I was deeply touched by this coincedence! Samantha/Sam had acted truly as my kind guardian for a day. I am deeply grateful for that, and couldn't be prouder of her and what she's doing now. That too is a little unexpected gift that the Divine grants teachers every now and then. Thank you, Lord. 

We all know who the Real Heroes are!

And at my side for almost every minute of this journey has been my best friend, my soulmate, my "small but fierce" source of inner strength and beauty: my wife Deborah. We were apart for just one night - our 1st night apart in over 5 years. But we were always connected in spirit. In a wordless way that can't be described; only felt. As our teacher Guy Finley once wrote, "Even in your absence, I can feel your presence." Amen. I did. 

We'll be walking again before you know it!

So now I'm home. Resting and recovering. One leg of the journey is done. More legs to come. I won't know the full results of my procedure for another couple of weeks. But I do know one thing for sure.

Life will go on. More lessons and challenges are coming, as are the gifts that accompany them. I plan on surviving and growing from them all. Hope to return here to share some more of them. 

"On y va" ("Off we go" in French). All is well.